Dark Roses
by nebulia
Summary: A hundred years ago, the Queen vanished. A hundred years ago, a woman was turned into a wolf. Now, it's up to a young healer grieving over the loss of his older sister to turn her back. How? True love, naturally. But nothing is ever as simple as it seems.
1. Once

A/N: Here is my little (hah!) version of Beauty and the Beast. Please enjoy.

**Dark Roses**

**Introduction**

A young man stood on a cliff, blue-black hair blowing in the wind. There was an inexplicable sadness in his dark grey eyes, and he watched the wild purple ocean and cloudy grey sky intently.

"Calix?"

The man turned. He smiled at the girl standing behind him. "Yes, Freira?"

"Papa's here. We can go into the cottage now."

Calix leaned down and kissed his little sister on the forehead. "Do not be so afraid, Frera," he said, using his pet name for her. "We'll find a home here."

Freira smiled wistfully at him. "I know, Cal," she said, and sighed. "It's just—well, I know it's selfish—but I just wanted to keep one pretty dress."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and the two began to walk across the moor towards a small cottage on the edge of a wood.

* * *

Calix was seventeen when his father, a wealthy merchant, had had all his warehouses burnt down in a freak accident. They had struggled for three years, and finally, Calix's father sold their large house and most of their furniture and clothing in the city, packed up what was left, and moved to his grandmother's old cottage near the town of Vanderwood, which had once been the capital of Imperial Soneh, the country.

Imperial Soneh was in a state of organized chaos, with no one really leading the country but no one really fighting, either. The country was small and neutral, and no other governments cared about their internal relations, so they had lived in relative peace for years, without a king or government.

However, people still followed the old laws because there was nothing else for them to do. One hundred years ago, the young Queen, Calista Cashlyn, had vanished without a trace, and the castle, which had been very near Vanderwood, had also disappeared. The servants were gone as well.

It was said Calista was a witch; that she had been witched; that she had been killed by the servants and _they_ had been witched, but know one knew.

Calix hardly even knew she had existed; as time passed people forgot more and more. When they traveled to Vanderwood, older sister, Minya, had died. His mother had died with his younger sister's birth, and now there was only Freira and him and their father.

The cottage was not much; five rooms that had been kept by an invisible servant, Johann. Freira fell in love with the attic, and convinced Calix and Johann to fix it up for her. Their father could no longer climb the ladder to the attic. Calix chose the small room upstairs; it had a huge gabled window looking out over the edge of the forest, which seemed to be only trees and rambling vines that looked like roses, and gave it the illusion of size. His father, Johnal, was left with the large upstairs room that had tall bay windows looking out over the moor and was still furnished.

Within a few days Johann, Calix, and Freira had made the cottage as home-like as they could. Johnal sat in a corner, reading and occasionally writing small notes. He would look up and smile once in a while, and say something like, "Ah, my dear Frera," or "Calix, you're becoming quite strong."

And they were happy. Vanderwood was kind, although rather liberal and more revolutionary than the city. They were quickly warned about the forest, and told not to stray in too far.

"No one returns," a young man told Calix. "People have gone out and none have come back. Or if they have, they haven't told us."

* * *

And so a year passed. Calix became the apprentice to the healer. Freira discovered a love of flowers and gardening. Johann happily wove at a loom, making magical tapestries of legends, and decorated the walls. Johnal began to cook, and they settled into a new routine that was more comfortable than anything in the city.

But then Freira wandered into the forest, and everything changed once more.

* * *

She had practically forgotten her name; it had been years, a hundred at least, since anyone had used it.

She was angry, but restricted her destruction to one room, the one that caused her the most pain.

It was long, with pillars and velvet seats and a huge gold throne at the front and portraits of rulers, her at the very end, her black hair straight and long and free, and the crown on her head, and her eyes deep and green and sad.

Huh. Sad.

Now, there was a great tear, several claw wounds, across the face and the canvas, and, in turn, a several festering on her face.

What had she become?

She had been eighteen when, one cold winter's night, while sitting on her throne, her trumpeter had announced one name.

"Laney the beggar girl!"

And the pregnant girl stood at the door.

Her trumpeter, Maxmilien, ran down the hall and bowed at her feet. "She wishes for a place to stay the night. She will pay you with a rose."

She had snorted with laugher. A rose?

But it intrigued her enough to get off her throne and walk slowly down the hall.

She had lifted the girl's chin; her face was dirty and tear-streaked and she couldn't have been any older than fourteen. Huh. She had been fourteen when she had been made Queen; yet this girl seemed so immature.

"Now," she said softly, wanting to kick her out then but instead letting the girl—Laney, if you will—suffer, "What is it you want?"

"Just shelter for me and my unborn baby," Laney said softly. "I have payment—" and she held out a rose.

It was a dark, deep red-purple, almost black but not quite, and iridescent. It glittered slightly—_no, just a trick of the light._

She touched the rose—and pulled her hand away, watching the blood drip from her finger with vague interest. "Let's see," she said, softly, dangerously. "Should I let you stay the night?" She leaned in—Dear lords and ladies, what a _smell!_—and said, voice even softer, "No."

"Please?" Tears dripped from the girl's eyes again. She did not move.

She shook her head. "What did I tell you? _No_. Now get out of my palace."

The girl threw off her cloak. "Then you will suffer the consequences!"

She was thrown back onto the ground. Maxmilien rushed forward, only to be stopped by the girl's hand. But she was no longer a girl—she was tall, and floating off the ground, her dress long and iridescent, her hair silver and flowing, her eyes golden.

The enchantress stared down at her. "You fail to love."

She lifted her head. "I love. It is caring I do not do, and I do not care by choice."

The enchantress shook her head. "You lie. You fail to love, and you fail to care, because you have no heart."

"I have a heart! I feel it beating every day, spilling my blood through my body, and I am powerless to stop it."

"_Silence!_ You have no heart, not in your soul, because you choose not to. You choose to be indifferent to all and it has killed your people and your servants, and now it is killing you."

She glared at the enchantress. "My people have not died."

"They are poor and suffering, and you have not tried as hard as you could to stop it."

"My servants are not dead."

"Turn around, your Highness."

She did.

Maxmilien was gone; in his place was a pile of dust.

"You—"

"_You_ killed him, Majesty. Your heartlessness. And you will die as well." The enchantress held up a hand as she tried to speak, and the Queen was silenced. "But I give you one chance. If you love, and he loves in return, then your spell will be broken."

"What spell?"

"_This _spell."

And then there was pain, awful awful pain which wracked her body and she was on her hands and knees and then things changed; her ears were on top of her head and she looked down a black nose and she stood, and her dress hung off her body, her wolf's body.

The enchantress smiled faintly, almost cruelly, "You can still talk." She beckoned towards the rose, lying forgotten on the ground, and it flew into her hand.

"This rose contains two hundred petals; they will fall once a year until it reaches one hundred fifty, and then they will fall twice a year, the next year three times, and so on until they are gone. You have that long to learn to love." And the rose was left, floating at her eye level as the enchantress vanished.

From that day on, she was not Calista Cashlyn. She was not the Queen. She was simply Beast.

* * *

She had wandered over to the painting of her the first day, by accident, and seen herself. In her anger, she had ripped her claws through her painted, beautiful face.

Pain tore across her wolf's face; and blood dripped onto her fur. The wound still festered, even after a hundred years.

So she had turned her anger onto all the other paintings, on the velvet cushions where the Court and petitioners sat, on her throne. On everything except the rose and her painting.

The rest of the palace was intact; she slept on a bed and taught herself how to turn the pages of a book in this form. She had not left the palace; vines and roses surrounded it wildly. The only creatures she knew were the cat and her four kittens, which had not been touched by the dust spell and did not age, either.

She lived in her own peaceful hell, until the girl looking for the perfect rose for her brother came.

* * *

Freira ran gleefully into the forest, disregarding all warnings of what lay deep in its bowels. She didn't care; the forest was beautiful, with its lovely trees and carpet of roses. But they were pink and white and a light orange-red. Calix wouldn't like that.

She wanted a blue rose, or a black one, or even dark red. But this was, the villagers told her, Rose Forest, and there were roses of all colors in there somewhere, if one could find them and some out alive. Huh. She could come out alive.

She walked for a few hours, she figured, singing and talking with the critters that passed by, not noticing that, as she got deeper and deeper into the forest, it grew colder and colder, and clouds suddenly covered the sky. She was intenton looking for the proper rose.But there were no roses the right color. Calix loved roses, because they had wonderful healing properties and they smelled sweet. Calix was apprentice to the healer, but his apprenticeship was nearly over and soon he would open a practice of his own for those who lived in the country.

Freira suddenly say a bush. Covered in large purple roses.

Purple. A different color. She ran to the bush and discovered a small entrance. Dodging through it, she was suddenly in a garden, large and totally roses. And, in the middle, a beautiful castle.

"Oh," Freira whispered. It was so lovely. Like the tapestry of the Queen's palace in the attic that Johann had cleaned for her.

And it was surrounded by roses of every imaginable color, from green to brown to black, and they were all beautiful.

But she decided on the sweetest-smelling ones, that appeared black at first but were actually and iridescent dark purple-red and, in the sunlight, seemed to glitter. Calix would love them, she thought. They would keep all the smells of bile and blood away from the healing room.

She cut thirteen of them; a baker's dozen, and then three more, to keep for herself. She was sixteen, and her father told her that whenever cutting flowers, cut the number of your age.

Snip.

Snip.

Snip snip snip snip snip snip snip snip snip snip snip snip.

She thought she heard as noise; a growl, maybe, or a purr.

Snip.

She heard it again; it was just a waving of a tree branch.

Snip.

_Growl._

Or not.

A wolf prowled out of a bush, its bright green and utterly unnatural eyes angry.

And then, to her terror, it spoke.

"What are you doing in my rose garden?"

It was a girl?

Freira threw the roses on the ground and said, "I'm sorry, ma'am, I just wanted some roses for my brother 'cause he's a healer and he needs them for the smell and the antiseptic qualities and I wanted some that had a pretty color and these were beautiful and—" This was said so fast not even Freira could understand herself.

"I don't give a damn where the roses are going to."

"What?"

"I don't care about it. I don't care about you or why you need them, but you can't leave."

"Why not?"

"You'll tell, and they'll kill me."

"I wouldn't!"

"You would. You're flighty, and you would tell."

Freira stared at the wolf again. It had several festering wounds across its muzzle and face. They were infected and almost green at the edges. _Calix could fix that, _she thought.

"My brother could fix your face," she blurted suddenly.

"What was that?" The wolf growled and approached her, baring its fangs. Lords and Ladies, it was scary!

"My brother. He's a healer. He could fix your face."

The wolf turned. "No one can fix that," it said sadly.

"My brother could." Freira said, defiantly raising her chin.

The wolf met her eyes squarely. "Fine. Bring him to me tomorrow. He can stay in your place."

"What?"

"_Do it!_" The wolf advanced and snapped at Freira's hand, pulling skin off two fingers, drawing a bit of blood.

Freira backed away and nodded. "As you wish, ma'am."

She turned and ran, leaving her roses fallen and trampled on the ground.

What had she done?

* * *

A/N: As to roses having antiseptic properties--not. This is, however, a different world, so perhaps the roses are different.

Please read and review.


	2. Break

A/N: Finally! The second chappie is UP! YES! It's kinda short—3½ pages—but I like it. I was disheartened when my computer deleted it, but I typed it up, and I think it's better. . Enjoy. And Rowenhoodit is supposed to be a retelling of Beauty and the Beast. Sorry if I didn't make that clear...

**Break**

Freira was in tears as Calix carefully wrapped her index and middle fingers, which had, indeed, been broken near the top joint by the beast. "Don't go, Cal," she begged. "Please don't go. 'Twas my fault, and she seemed all alone, and she couldn't hardly come after us!"

Calix looked at his sister evenly. "You made a promise, and I intend on keeping it, Frera. 'Sides, it'll save me from the village girls who come chasing after me."

Freira smiled through her tears. "What? You mean you don't like those girls I sent after you? I'm hurt, Calix." He smiled faintly, and hit her playfully. She tapped his shoulder with her good hand. "Better get used to 'em, Cal," she said. "I hear the girls talkin' at market, and you're definitely th' most handsome guy in the town."

Calix lips quirked in what might've been a smile. "Them, not ''em.' Talking, not 'talkin'.' The, not 'th'.' I know this is the country, Frera, but they respect you highly for being 'city folk,' and they'd respect you more if you spoke like one."

Freira suddenly glared at him. "And what you would care, Cal? You'll be gone!"

Calix met her gaze evenly, grey eyes connecting with hers. She burst into tears again, and flung her arms around him. "Oh, Cal," she sobbed. "What'm I going to do without you?"

He rubbed her back softly. "Survive, I guess. What do you think?"

She laughed quietly, still crying and hiccoughing. "I just—I just—" and then dissolved into tears again. "What'm I gonna tell Papa and Johan?"

Calix rubbed her back again, cradling her softly in his lap. "Shh, shh" and then when she calmed down some, he said, "Master Healinghands got a letter yesterday from a friend in the city. There've been people acting up, people who've forgotten and want a government. Fighting's begun and there're a lot of wounded people. Healing Houses are full, and Healers are in short supply. I just finished training yesterday, too, you know that—I'm a full Healer and I figured I'd go to the city for a while, before I come back and open my own practice or move in with Master Healinghands. You'll just tell everyone I had to leave right away—tell Master Healinghands the truth, though—he knows everything about the forest and the castle."

Freira glanced at him. "But what about—Minya? You don't' want to leave her things?"

Calix stared at Freira. She was wiping tears off her nose, a small delicate thing that was so much like his older sister's. Freira was so much like Minya—she told stories like she did, although not quite as well—just for fun. Minya had been writing them down. Whenever he read them, he would cry.

Calix never cried. He hadn't cried since he was a toddler, but when he took out those stories after moving in, he sobbed like he was a baby. They were so beautiful, and sweet, and wonderfully fantastic. How he missed Minya! Missed her more than anything.

Freira extracted herself from his arms and said, "Here. I'll go pack you some food. If you want to get there by sunset you'd best get started soon."

Calix stood, walking over to his bed. He picked up the soft, old brown blanket he'd been wrapped in as a baby and used as a comforter ever since. He placed the portrait of his family that had been painted just before his mother died, when he was thirteen and Minya was eighteen and Freira was seven in it. He put Minya's stories in it. He put the mourning portrait of Freira, their father, and himself in it. And finally, he put his personal favorite of all of Johan's tapestries in it.

In it, a young woman sat in a garden of deep purple roses, leaning against the wall of a huge castle. She was crying and laughing at the same time, and blood ran down her fingers as she clutched a rose and stared at the sun, which was just coming out from behind a thundercloud.

He threw the blanket into a knapsack, and tossed in healing materials and some clothes and a bar of soap.

He took the sack of food from Freira, hugged her long and hard, squeezing a few tears out of his eyes (and a lot out of Freira's), and then he turned and left, careful not to turn back lest he turn into salt or some other horrific substance.

He would not look back. He _could _not look back.

* * *

Beast did no know why she had sent the girl to get her brother, until she angrily burst into the throne room and saw the rose.

_Perhaps he could break the curse, _the cat said.

Beast turned to her. _Are you mad? No one will love me. I will love no one. _

_Have it your way,_ the cat sniffed, and stalked off, nose and tail high in the air.

Beast stared at the rose, and leaned her nose in to brush against the petals. They were soft and still and beautiful, and, if they hadn't been her curse, she would've thought them a blessing.

Her nose brushed a thorn, and she pulled away, turning on a cushion that only had a few scratches in it. Within moments it was in ribbons of velvet and shreds of sheep's-wool stuffing.

And then she hoped.

Perhaps…she didn't dare think it, but perhaps he _could_ break the spell. She thought…where would he sleep?

The answer, after a moment of thinking, was obvious. She wandered in to check the room, make sure it hadn't been touched by weather. She nudged the pile of dust off the balcony, and then retched over the edge. She turned to leave, and spotted the mirror.

She was not a large wolf; rather, she was average-sized, perhaps a bit small. Her eyes were still green, unnaturally so for a wolf, and she still wore shreds of the corset and petticoat she had worn that night. The dress had fallen apart long ago. Her wound was becoming green around the edges; she shook her muzzle and felt the breeze sting it. She looked over the dresser; miniature portraits covered it. There was one of her—no, one of the Queen. The beautiful, vain last Queen of Imperial Soneh.

She wanted to break the mirror; she could see the Queen in it, but she didn't. She turned into the next room, and picked up a gold chalice on the floor, hurling it into the mirror.

The Queen shattered into pieces, and the Beast did as well.

She ran through the halls, dodging into a sitting room that was dusty but untouched. She ripped though cushions and curtains for hours and then saw that the room had a view of the rose garden.

A young man was walking into the garden.

Instantly Beast saw the resemblance between the girl from the day before and the man; they both had blue-black hair and dark grey eyes.

She bolted out of the destroyed sitting room and down the grand staircase and out the door, prowling through the gardens.

"Hello?" the man asked nervously. "Is anyone there?"

Beast growled softly; the man turned towards the bushes she was hiding in.

"Who's there?"

Beast pushed through the bushes, showing herself. "I am."

The man looked slightly afraid. "You?"

"Me." Why should he be afraid? Beast wondered. She was not a scary creature; she was thin and underfed, she was average and weak, and she was covered in rags. Why would he be afraid?

She whirled angrily and said sharply, "Follow me."

He slung a knapsack on his shoulder and did.

Beast wandered through the halls at what seemed to be random, taking servant's passages and small, portrait-less hallways to get to where she was going. There were too many pictures of her family anywhere else—too many pictures of what she used to be.

"Excuse me? Are we lost?"

"_No_!" Beast snapped, green eyes angry as she prowled. "I know where I'm going, dammit!"

With that, she suddenly turned into a main hallway, beautiful with rich carpet and brilliant tapestries and portraits. Wall sconces were lit with Glow-globes, small globes of glass that, when once lit with a touch, stayed lit permanently unless touched again.

Beast stopped at a door, nudging it open with her nose. It opened into a large room, with a huge bed. The hangings were scarlet and gilded, and there was a balcony looking over the forest. A tall bookshelf stood in the corner, full of thick books that Beast had dared not touch.

"This is your room," she said, barely restraining anger. "There are clothes in the closet, if you wish to dress in them. The bookshelf is full of medical texts, I believe. Most are over a hundred years old." _Actually, they all are. _"The washroom is right over there. The kitchens are down the hallway and at the bottom of the small staircase in the corner. The library is down the hallway, down the grand staircase, in the hall to the left, the first door. I will not join you for dinner."

"Why not?"

She turned on him and growled. "I don't eat like you do. Would you expect me to sit at a table and use a fork and spoon? Would you expect me to get up and dance between courses or wear a fine gown and put up my hair? Trust me, Sir Healer, you _don't _want to see me eat."

He threw his knapsack on the bed and crossed behind her, slightly afraid but also looking very calm. "What's your name?"

She didn't turn around. "Beast."

His tone was confused. "Surely you've another—"

"I chose to forget. My name is Beast now."

After a moment of silence he spoke. "My name is Calix."

Beast did not answer. She did not care. "Do not enter the room at the bottom of the large staircase to the right under any circumstances."

"Why—"

"_Don't go in it!"_

"I have a right to go in it," the man stated. "I live here now, if anything my sister said was true. Apparently, I'm never going back to the village." He sounded amused.

"You're not. But you are a permanent guest in _my _house, and that is_ my_ private room. You are _forbidden _to go in there."

Calix was silent. Beast hoped it meant that he would not protest anymore. He made her feel—strange, odd. She felt different when she was near him. After a moment of thought, she decided that it was because this was the first time in a hundred and thirteen years (she had counted the rose petals just after the girl had left) she was in close proximity with a human.

"Will you join me for dinner?" the man asked.

She whirled and snapped at him. He backed away onto the bed as she growled at him. "Did you hear anything I said?" she hissed.

Calix nodded. "I'm a healer. I've had dogs before. I am not disgusted by their eating patterns, and I assume yours are not terribly different. Also, I've worked with blood, vomit, bile, and many other sickening things on a daily basis for nearly a year. Your eating will not disgust me. Please join me for dinner."

He was being _kind_ to her. She backed away. "I don't need charity. Look at me,. Look at my home."

"It's not charity. It's kindness. It's extending a hand of friendship."

"I don't want your friendship."

"Then what do you want?"

Beast stopped. Sat down. That was an—_unusual_ question. She shook her head. "Nothing you can give me," she said softly, and walked out.

* * *

Well? Like? Hate? Love? (Ha. Ha.)

Please review and tell me what you thinkit's the only payment I get.

I don't own the plot, but I do own the charries. Wow, that's strange to say...usually it's the other way round...

Oh, well,  
nebulia


	3. Lonesome

Wow, an update. And an awful one—I'm sorry, but I felt like I needed to get what I had out there at lease.

Thanks for your amazing reviews—wow. I never expected to get this awesome feedback. Thank you so much, and I might actually update soon next time—but 'tis a long story as to why I haven't updated in ages. It's a decently long chapter for me—4.5 pages—so enjoy.

Once more, I apologize for the lack of quality.

* * *

**Lonesome**

a.k.a. Hatred

Calix entered the kitchen and was suddenly bombarded by four kittens as they leapt off the table and onto him. He laughed and sat down on the floor—his balance had been knocked off, and he _did_ want to play with them.

_Kids! Get off the mortal! _

Calix heard a voice echo through his mind and jumped as he saw a cat standing on the table, looking murderous.

The kittens, still curled up in his lap, on his shoulders, and settled in his hair all protested, also in his mind. _Mama! But Ma…He likes us Mama, really!_

"I do," Calix said. "Really—cats are interesting, and these seem pretty sweet. It's all right."

_Are you sure? _The cat asked swiftly. _They are quite irritable at times._

"I'm sure they are," Calix responded. "But right now, they aren't too bad. What's your name?"

The reader may be confused as to why Calix is responding to a talking cat with such ease, and the answer is this: Imperial Soneh was in a sate of mass chaos, and the children growing up during this time period were extremely well-adjusted to odd events and goings-on. While Calix had never met a talking cat before, very little surprised him anymore, so he spoke with said cat as though she were human, simply because the cat spoke. Like many people, Calix had begun responding to anything that talked—it was much easier that way.

The cat sat down on the table and began to clean herself. _Regali, _she said coolly. Calix stood, kittens sliding of him as they protested. "It's a pleasure, Regali. What kind of food do we have here?"

_Anything you want_, the cat replied, as she continued to clean herself. _Just say what you want, and it will be there. _

"That's clever," Calix marveled.

_The whole curse is._

"Curse?"

Regali turned away. _I have said too much. You have to find that out on your own. _

ڜ

Beast glanced in the stained glass window behind the throne, and saw the man—Calix—in the kitchen with the cat.

It was odd—sometimes she could see strange things in the glass—the cat, or the village sometimes.

In her day, the village had been called Johannesburg, but it had changed several times, and had now settled, for twenty-five years, on Vanderwood.

And she was fine with that; she didn't care to think of Johan much. He almost was worse than thinking about Laney, or Maxmilien, or that awful night.

But the village was always bustling and happy and—_noisy_! Oh, how she missed the noise with all her heart—there was nothing to make it here. There was just silence.

Silence…

She watched the man—Calix—sit on the floor and play with the kittens. He seemed so happy.

He spoke with the cat—him speaking aloud, her probably in her little, disturbing mind-reading way—as she cleaned herself. And suddenly he stood and she turned away.

Calix frowned and sat back down again, wrapping his arms around his knees. His face was confused, thoughtful…sad? He rocked once, twice, and the look on his face changed. His eyes darkened, his features became less solid, and he seemed to float away, as if thinking or…remembering.

Beast knew that look all too well—how often had she felt it on her own face?

She growled softly—he should be happy here. He should—

She didn't dare think it.

Calix's face suddenly came back to now, and he simply looked homesick. Homesick and all alone.

Beast sat down and watched him. He certainly was handsome—the most handsome man she'd ever seen. But she didn't feel…lustful. She had always controlled those sorts of passions, knowing they could get her in trouble. Sex had been merely a tool of ambition, not one of pleasure.

And it wasn't hate, for she had stopped hating the world long ago, and now only hated herself.

It wasn't love, either, for she loved another. Another who quite clearly, given her appearance, didn't and would never love her—also, she reasoned, probably given the fact that he was dead by now. And she would only love one.

But—dammit, she _couldn't _possibly—

It was hope. She _hoped_ he would break the curse.

She growled and ripped through the thick carpet at her feet. The cat's voice rang mockingly in her ears.

_What'd I tell you, Highness? Perhaps _he_ can break the curse. _

ڜ

After firmly affirming the fact that he would not cry, Calix got a bowl of stew and decided to look in the library.

Of course, 'look in' was an understatement.

It really was the most wonderful room he'd ever seen. It was huge—four stories tall, at least, and so large he couldn't see it all. The shelves branched into small alcoves and courtyards filled with huge chairs, and there were at least three roaring fireplaces.

Calix held his bowl of stew and explored the rooms—finally admitting he was (happily) lost in this wondrous place. He picked a book, almost at random, and then chose the most comfortable chair he could find.

"I see you have found the library. Do you like it?"

Calix jumped and saw the wolf—Beast. Her green eyes flicked over the near empty bowl of stew in his hands and the book he had decided to settle down with. He smiled. "It's amazing."

Her eyes lit up for just a moment, and then her gaze returned to the typical angry one. She nodded once, and said, "Good." Then she turned and walked out, leaving Calix to work out what he felt.

ڜ

He had far too much effect on her, Beast decided as she lay on her lavish bed in her chambers.

She loved her room. She always had—the impossibly huge bed, the velvet curtains the surrounded said bed, the sheets that were cool in heat and warm in cold, the thick, plush, deep purple-red carpet, the silver mirror and desk. Everything was dark, near-black, and it made the silver Glowglobes and wall sconces stand out. The balcony was black marble and looked out over the rose garden, and if Beast had one place to spend the rest of her days, this place would be it.

And even when she had hated everything, she hadn't hated this place. She couldn't, for some reason, hate this one room.

She curled up under the black comforter, sprawling as best she could on the pillows. Now that she had admitted she was hopeful, it had exploded inside her like a firework, growing and shooting higher and higher.

She growled and jumped off the bed.

She didn't like hope, she decided. It made her—happy, almost, and she didn't like it. It seemed too fragile, too vulnerable.

All her life, as Queen and Princess and Beast, Beast had spent her time building up a wall of perfect stillness, a wall lacking any emotion whatsoever. Underneath, she had developed a second wall, full of ambition and anger and hatred of the world, and eventually, herself. Inside, there were other emotions, emotions she dared not touch or dream about—and were probably gone now.

Once, when she had been queen for two years, the ambassador from Shenay Londola came to the palace.

"And you've been Queen for how long?" she asked.

"Two years," Beast had replied—of course, she hadn't been Beast then, but it didn't matter anymore.

"And you were the eldest daughter of the King?" the woman queried, eyes steady and questioning.

"I was the eldest child of the King," Beast responded, voice wavering slightly. The gaze was unnerving. She continued, her voice slightly haughty. "I worked hard to prove I could rule well in this position without a regent despite my young age." She didn't mention what the work was—well, it was a mixture of virtually _anything_, but anything encompassed everything—oh, did she really need to continue with that thought train?

"Of course," the woman said. "And you have done a fine job. But," she added, tilting her head and raising her eyebrows, "What gain is there if you gain the whole world but lose your soul?"

Beast didn't remember how she'd responded. She couldn't kill the woman, so she had probably just thanked her for her audience and sent her to dinner.

But she knew that was it—that she'd lost her soul. And she knew what the curse was, why it had changed—

No. No. She couldn't think about this now.

But the curse had changed—and she hated herself for it. Hated herself for causing the stupid change.

But she wasn't going to let that man get to her. She wouldn't let him—wouldn't let _anyone _of the stupid bastards in this stupid country get to her.

And the hate came rushing back—every ugly thought flooded into her mind, every horrible feeling, every little villager who had screamed at her 'fearful' appearance and whom she had ripped to shreds, in retaliation for the little piles of dust she encountered everywhere, even in dreams.

He _was_ human. He had a flat face, not a muzzle. He had arms and legs and could fit into a pair of breeches. He was everything she had been.

And she hated him for it. And she hated herself for hating him.

She lay on the purple-black sheets and wouldn't let herself move until her hate had vanished.

ﺶ

She slept; when she awoke, she decided that she could not live without hating him for simply being him.

But it had faded, slipping into the back of her mind, replaced with other thoughts. Namely, thoughts of food.

She exited to the grounds. The palace had fantastic grounds—over half the forest was property of the royal family, and she could stay there. She hunted—rabbits and squirrels and possum mostly, but sometimes, when she was out, she hunted with a pack of wolves who lived on the grounds and they took down deer.

She could stand the raw food now; when she had first started to hunt, the thought of killing and eating a rabbit made her stomach turn, and then eating it made her gag. But now she didn't mind the taste; a nice cooked steak was always better, but it wasn't so bad. The only thing that bothered her was the blood; but she had grown to ignore it and washed her face with cool water as soon as she finished eating.

She caught a rabbit in a quarter of an hour and had finished eating it a few moments later. Washing her face in a nearby stream, she reentered the palace todiscover Calix standing at the door.

"What do you want?" she demanded rudely.

He jumped back stunned. "N-nothing. I was just watching you eat and I wondered if—" he broke off.

Beast rolled her eyes. Honestly—she wasn't that scary. Humans.

_Humans—_oh, lords and ladies. She was turning into an _animal!_ She breathed in and out for moment, trying to collect herself and organize her horror. "If what?" she asked, a little more gently.

Calix didn't notice the gentleness, though. "If—well, I've been here almost two days already, and I was wondering if I could have a look at your face—that's what you brought me here for, right?"

Beast was about to say, _no. I brought you here so you could fall in love and marry me_—in fact, she had opened her mouth to ay so when she stopped. He mustn't know. "Yes. That's right."

Calix smiled at her, a nervous, shaky smile. "Fine then. I'll go get my things. Wait here."

He left. Beast wanted to stay, wanted to watch his handsome face gently frown in concern, wanted _her_ face to be healed.

But not as much as she wanted to hide from him—or to kill him.

Wait here—hah. She turned and sprinted to the library, vanishing into its recesses.

* * *

post-A/N: Please review! Thanks!

Signing off  
nebulia


	4. Remembering

A/N: One of my off-line friends who is reading was curious as to how I found the names. Freira is a Spanish name for 'little sister,' according to my name dictionary. Minya is form a Native American language (my dictionary was not specific) and means, 'sister.' Calix is Greek for 'Very Handsome.' Calista Cashlyn, Beast's birth name, is twofold: Calista is also Greek and means 'beautiful;' Cashlyn is English (although I changed the spelling; it's original spelling is Cashlin) and means 'vain.' Sorry; I was just very proud of my symbolic names.

Also, Calix is about 6'5." What can I say? Tall guys are cool. And all heights in this story are measured against him, so that way I don't need to use feet and inches in the story; I dislike using our units of measurements in fantasy tales.

Thank you all for your lovely reviews; I cannot say how pleased I am you guys (or, more aptly, gals) like it.

And, finally, look at this: I updated eight days ago, and lookee here! I'm updating again, with a six-and-a-half page update! Aren't you all proud? -smiles hopefully-**

* * *

Remembering **

Regali stalked Beast coolly—the wolf saw it all through a glass table in the certain alcove she was in.

Which was odd—she had never seen anything in glass save for her visions in the stained glass. But she shook that out of her mind and simply watched the cat stalk her with her regal air.

Truth be told, Beast had no idea where Regali had come from. She had been around ever since she could remember, and her mother once told her she had a cat of similar looks her whole life. But that cat had never talked to her.

Regali had _always_ talked to Beast. Sometimes, it was almost a relief—her voice was always frank, without the simpering and titles and repressed anger. She never spoke aloud; rather, it was a voice ringing in her mind, but one that was clear as a bell. Regali always gave Beast exactly what she thought—_I don't give a damn what you think_, she once told her, when she was twelve. _You can't kill me—you won't kill me. I'm your only sanity—your only conscience._

Beast had raged and scowled, but the sad thing was that it was true. That damn cat was always right, no matter what, and Beast hated it—hated it! But she was never able to bring herself to kill the thing.

She could run, she mused as she looked in the glass. But what was the use of running from a cat that could read her mind? Might as well get it over with now.

She circled and curled into a ball, and waited.

And waited.

But she was used to that, too. Everything these days was waiting—she had always waited. But she didn't know for what.

But she passed the time by dreaming—of things past. Once she had dreamed of the future, but that was even more painful than the past. She chose to relive horrible memories rather than create new ones.

_

* * *

A boy stalked into the palace—unafraid, maybe eighteen years old. He was tall—very tall, thin—very thin, with dark brown hair drawn back in a ponytail and gray eyes. _

_Beast had seen him come into the garden, running. He had slowed and stopped almost instantly, and his mouth dropped open in awe. _

_He had simply stood for the longest time—staring at everything, drinking it in. He seemed familiar—in an old, sad way. _

_But his awestruck observations gave her enough time to get to the door. She stayed there, behind the open portal, and waited until he strode in, as nice-as-you-please. _

_With a well-placed push, she shut the door. _

_Her parents had taught her the push when she was young. The doors to the entrance hall were gargantuan, and took at least six people to open and close, but they were cleverly built: if one pushed in one exact spot, the doors would shut instantly. It didn't work when one wanted the doors open (there was another trick for that), but it was nice in cases like these._

_The doors closed with an inaudible click, heard only by Beast's sensitive ears. _

_The man—for he was a man, not a boy, Beast observed—once more stared awestruck. _

_"It hasn't changed—"_

_"Can I help you?" Beast asked coldly. "Perhaps were hoping for an assisted suicide. Or maybe—you could help me open that door, and you could leave—but I'll require some payment. An arm would do nicely."_

_He whirled, and gasped, stunned. "_Majesty?" _he asked. "Queen Calista?" _

_"If you wish it."_

_"Why—why are you like this?"_

_Beast growled and lunged forward. He dodged quickly and pulled himself up onto the banister, where Beast couldn't get to him. _

_"What's your name?"_

_"Johan. Johan Weaver."_

_The name rang in Beast's head with memory. She paused, thinking. And than it clicked. "Cooking boy. You were the chef's page. Your father was the palace weaver, but he was consumptive and nearly died so he left when I was seventeen. It was your tenth birthday." How had she remembered _that?_ Oh, yes, she had come into the kitchens and they were celebrating, and she told him that he had to leave otherwise he kill all the other servants with his 'despicable illness.' _

_She smiled at the memory—and then did the math. It had been fifteen years—so he was twenty-five now. Older than she had originally thought._

_"That's right," he said, confused. _

_"You'll stay here, Johan." She said, softly. The words of the curse echoed in her ears. He could break the spell. She knew it. She _hoped _it. "Would you like that?"_

_He backed away, almost afraid. "As long as I can weave, I'll be fine."_

_She shrugged, and retreated to the throne room. "Suit yourself and have a look around. Just don't enter this room."_

_"Why—"_

_"_Don't!_" She snapped, and vanished into the room._

_She was in love—she was in love. _

_He had done something to her—something that made her angry and exhilarated at the same time and she hated it—_

_

* * *

Idiot. _

Regali's voice echoed in her ears and Beast snapped back to the present.

She looked up to see her green eyes reflected in Regali's amber ones. "What." It was just a crudely formed question—more of a statement than anything.

_You, Majesty, are an idiot. There you are reminiscing about Him when you could be out there letting _him_ dress your face._

"I don't want him to," Beast said shortly, vehemently. "I _hate_ him! I hate him and that _stupid_ village and everything about him! I don't ever want to speak to him or see him _again!_"

_But he can't leave_, Regali responded, _unless he breaks the curse._

"Yes."

_So _make_ him break the curse. _Make_ him fall in love with you._

"I can't," Beast said.

_You're an idiot! If you act that way, of course you won't be able to! _Regali sighed, and sat regally next to Beast. _Look. Every girl in Vanderwood, except for his sister, chases after him because he's handsome. He wants someone to love him for _who_ he is, not because he's good-looking, and, consequently, he will love someone for who she is, and not because she's beautiful. So he won't hate you because you're ugly. _

_I remember you when you were young. Before your parents and Adrena died. Before you became bitter and selfish. _Beast growled softly in warning. _Don't you growl at me. You know as well as I do that it's true. _

_You were happy, and loved. You read your books and danced in the gardens. You talked to everyone, even the servants—you didn't care that they were servants, just that they were people like you. You were a sweet child. _

"I was five."

_Hush. That doesn't matter—what matters is that you show Calix who you really are. Release those emotions you keep all bottled up inside of you and _let_ yourself fall In love with you and vice versa. _

"I won't do that, cat. I will not do that. It would be betraying—"

_He doesn't love you._

"I know." Beast looked at Regali. She was still, and then she turned and started to leave, but stopped just before the door. _Think about it, Majesty. For him. For you—for me._

Beast looked away.

Regali sighed and returned to her kittens.

* * *

Beast ran through the palace grounds. She occasionally stopped and howled, looking for the rest of the pack. 

They treated her differently, but let her run with them, let her hunt with them. She stayed aloof, and they let her. That was all right with her.

But the Alpha female came up to her after hunting that night. _We smell someone new about the building._

Beast looked at her. They didn't understand the way humans spoke, so she nodded. _There is._

_A human?_

_Yes._

_It is as I thought_, the female wolf said. _Why is he here?_

Beast tried to think of some way to condense the past hundred and thirteen years into a sentence, and shrugged helplessly. _It's—complicated. But he can break the curse that was set on me many—many summers ago._ Wolves didn't use months and years and days, she knew— they didn't understand the concept of humans giving names to things that were exactly the same.

The female nodded. _You're a human, aren't you. _It was a statement, not a question.

Beast looked away. _Yes._

The female wolf said, _I will not tell the pack. But if they find out, you are not welcome here. _

Beast turned and walked away.

* * *

Calix had figured that Beast would not stay to let him dress her face, and, he realized suddenly, he didn't mind so much. 

She was not a likable figure; rather, she was angry, bitter, and impolite.

He pitied her, and she did not want his pity, which made the large gap between them even wider. He chose to explore the library instead.

He dozed in a chair at one point, then awoke and realized that there was a dog-like figure silhouetted against the fireplace.

He recognized the rags she wore instantly.

"Beast?"

The figure looked up, and her green eyes glowed. "Do you need something?" she asked crudely.

Calix had a fairly slow temper, but she was beginning to annoy him. "Yes. I need you to be polite. I need to be treated with a little respect."

Beast laughed bitterly. "Respect? As what? As a man? As a healer? As high society?"

"No. As a fellow human." Calix stood. His gray eyes lit with anger.

"As a fellow human?" Beast hissed through her teeth. "Let's look at that statement rationally. First of all, I am _not_ human; in fact, I haven't been one for a hundred thirteen years. On top of that, I was human for merely eighteen years. I am more wolf than human, Healer. And second: I am a Queen. I might not be _acting _Queen, but I don't give a damn. And since I am Queen, I don't need to respect you. I could kill you right now for speaking treason against me, and it would be legal. So shut the hell up and leave me be!"

At the moment, Calix was too angry to be surprised. "You know what? I don't care who you are, but you were once human and thus you still are—you have a mind like a human. You talk like a human. You act like a spoiled, selfish human! And, frankly, anyone who remembers you hates you because you let Imperial Soneh fall into disrepair. If they knew you were alive, they would charge on this castle and burn it down. Finally, I _live_ here now, so you ought to treat me with the respect a person treats her fellow housemate. And my name is _Calix_, not Healer!"

They stood there, staring at each other for what seemed like and eternity. And then they both turned away, not sure of who broke the gaze first.

* * *

She could've been nice, Beast's human side told her. But no, she had to get angry and defensive and bitter. 

One can't be nice to one they hate, her other side told her, the side that was not human, but was not Beast either. It was the side that was just—her. Bitter, angry, afraid.

She wished she were human. She wished Johan loved her back. She hated how idiotic she felt.

She shook her head. She was _not _an idiot. She was well read. She knew eight languages. She had was skilled in calculus and algebra and figuring. She knew about every possible kind of government and had trained in philosophy and history and trade economics.

But she felt as though she had missed something.

_I need to be treated with a little respect_.

She had never treated anyone with respect, she realized. Even when she liked the servants she hadn't respected them; she'd been five years old and unaware of what the word 'respect' even meant.

And then she discovered she could order them around and they would do whatever she ordered without protesting. Any respect she may have had for them vanished.

And she'd never been respectful to her parents or her sister, Adrena. Adrena, though, was mentally unstable. And Beast, being to only possible heir, could basically do anything as long as she didn't kill herself.

And Adrena, she thought, was the only person who she really cared for. Before becoming Beast, that is.

Oh, Adrena.

She curled up on a pillow in the throne room, staring at the rose, and, if she'd been human, she would've cried.

She didn't know why.

* * *

Calix stood in his room, unpacking. He wasn't sure why he hadn't gotten around to doing this beforehand, but he didn't mind. The drawers were basically empty, which made him wonder if it was a guest room. 

He unrolled the tapestry, and, finding some pins in the water closet (totally by chance; he had been poking around, exploring, and had found a sewing kit that rivaled the town's seamstress') pinned it up.

He folded the brown comforter onto the big chair in the corner, and then took out all of Minya's stories. He settled himself into the chair, and looked at them.

_Minya…_

She had been his guiding light after his mother's death; and even before, a bit.

She was brave, strong, brilliant, stubborn. She devoured every book she could get her hands on, no matter what the genre, she had taught herself to play the pianoforte, she was a brilliant horsewoman and she never backed down.

Of course, the stubborn streak was what had brought her down. Calix swallowed a sob.

_

* * *

It was after his father's losses, when they had decided to move. Minya was going out to secure four or five horses for them, and had bought two packhorses that could pull a wagon and a riding horse, who was young but she had trained. And she had come upon a particularly good deal: an unbroken horse, but he was cheap and of good, strong bloodlines. _

_Calix had come along; Freira had told him, in the midst of her packing, that he would just be in the way, so he should go "help Minya so I don't murder you." _

_So Calix had gone with Minya._

_Minya was small; she only came up to Calix's shoulder. Both Calix and Freira were tall, like their father. But Minya had taken after their mother, and was short and slender, but well-formed. And pretty; not beautiful, but easy on the eyes, with her delicate nose, large gray eyes and chestnut auburn curls. _

_Right away, the owner of the horse saw her and said, "You won't be able to tame him."_

_Minya had picked up her split skirts, stalked up to the tall man (he was taller than Calix, and that was a rare thing), and said slowly, "I have been riding horses for seventeen years, sir, and I'm quite confident in my abilities." Calix, Freira, and Minya had all begun training in horseback riding at five, but Minya was the only one who was really skilled in it._

_The man said, "I have been riding for twenty years, and I still can't hardly manage that fellow."_

_"Minya," Calix said tentatively, "Maybe you shouldn't buy him—we need a horse we can handle for the trip."_

_"Shut up, Cal!" she cried angrily, glaring at him. "I have broken wilder horses that that; he doesn't scare me!" _

_The man grabbed her by the shoulders. "Milady, he's a strong horse, and you're very small."_

_"I'm aware of that, sir," Minya stated, suddenly calm. "But that is sometimes easier on the horse, for there is less weight on his back. _

_"Yes," the man responded, "But it still doesn't change the fact that you could be easily thrown."_

_"Minya," Calix said, "Please don't. I'm sure we can find another deal someplace—and he is a fine stallion. It will not be hard for this esteemed fellow to get a buyer for him."_

_"He's right, milady," the man said. "I have had several offers on him; you were merely the first."_

_Minya looked between the two men, and pulled away from the owner's grasp. "You have _got_ to be kidding me!" She turned to the man. "You sir, are completely unaware of my abilities, so how can you try to dissuade me?" she turned on Calix. "And you, Cal, are five years younger than me and not as skilled as I am, so how can you possibly try to tell me I can't handle him?"_

_She was not bragging—just stating the truth, Calix knew._

_The owner sighed, and handed her a halter. She jumped the fence and entered the paddock where the horse was kept. _

_In a few moments, she had the horse's nose in her hands, and she was easing the halter over his face._

_The man stared, openmouthed. "She was right."_

_Calix nodded, a steely look in his eyes. "Don't get too comfortable."_

_She eased herself onto the horse's back, gently, carefully. She nudged him just slightly; he started forward like a firecracker in surprise, but then slowed to a steady walk. She relaxed just slightly. Calix watched her feet move the tiniest bit. "Minya—" he called, but she had already nudged and suddenly the horse exploded, and Calix was over the fence and Minya was on the ground, a growing pool of blood spreading around her head and Calix was cradling her body in his arms and begging her to live in every language he knew (three) and then all he could see was black._

* * *

Calix looked down at the pile of Minya's stories, and wiped his tearstained face. Minya and Beast were alike, in a way—they were both stubborn. He smiled faintly through his tears. 

Maybe living here for the rest of his life wouldn't be quite so bad. He glanced over at the medical texts on the shelf—those would be fun to tackle. And maybe, as he got to know Beast, he could grow to like her.

And then there was the curse.

Calix yawned and suddenly realized how exhausted he was. He stood and removed his waistcoat and shirt, and then pulled back the bedcovers, crawling into the warm sheets.

_Tomorrow_, he decided, just before he dozed off, _Tomorrow I'll go explore._

_

* * *

_

Please review; I'll love you forever if you do! And, as an extra incentive, you'll each get a cyber-cookie. Your flavor of choice.

Signing off,  
nebulia


	5. Dark

A/N: Some questions from reviews need to be answered:

**How did Beast fall in love with Johan in two seconds? I suppose it's meant to be "love at first sight" (a convention that I really hate - I believe people have to know each other before they can love), but usually love at first sight means both people feel it. I wasn't really getting where her strong feeling came from. But I'm curious to see what happened to the guy. **

No, it really wasn't love at first sight—although it grows to be 'real love' later on—however, Beast is in a stage where she's beginning to get over her hatred of everything, and now that she sees a young, handsome man in her palace, she remembers the curse. Once she sees him, she thinks, "Oh my gosh, he's my way out of this hellhole! Yippee! I looooove him!" (Or something along those lines) and basically fancied herself in love with him right away because he was her way out. Hope that makes sense.

**Since Beast came right out and TOLD Calix that she was really the Queen transformed, why didn't he ask her how she got that way? Isn't he the least bit curious?**

When Beast told Calix she was the queen, he was far too angry to realize what exactly she had said. Calix is the kind of person who seems (and thinks he has) to have a fairly slow temper, but really things just simmer far under the surface and when he gets mad, he get REALLY mad. So he wasn't really thinking then. And then, afterward, he was thinking about Minya, and so he didn't realize what Beast said. However, his curiosity will come up in this chapter.

**Why did Calix black out when he wasn't the one hurt?**

He was so stunned and grieved and a little bit horrified—Minya's death was particularly gruesome (she both cracked her head open and broke her neck)—and filled with almost instant guilt that he just passed out. It CAN happen—I passed out when I found out my grandma died, and I wasn't even there. Why did Calix feel guilty? He had a basic understanding of medical knowledge, and he thought that had he been a healer, he probably would've been able to save her life, even though her injuries were too devastating to survive. Minya's death was what provoked him into taking an apprenticeship.

I hope that answered your questions, folks. Those questions were quoted right from the reviews; so don't get mad at me. I don't own 'em.

Anyway, onto the new chapter.

**Dark**

He always woke late at night, twisted in his sheets like a butterfly twisted in a cocoon. He would moan in his sleep, quiet enough so no one else in the little cottage heard, but loud enough to wake him.

He would gather the sweat-soaked sheets then, and wash them before anyone knew how badly he slept.

He helped out. He always had, ever since an old woman, abandoned by her children, had bought the place. She was blind—she thought he was normal. He helped her get around.

"Boy?" she would cry, sitting in her chair. "Is it dark out?"

"No, ma'am," he would say, going to her side, "It is only noon—the sun is shining."

Her head would drop, and her voice would break. "Oh. It's dark to me. It overpowers everything. Even when my eyes are closed it is too dark—I _hate_ the dark!" And she would cry in his arms and he would rock her, thinking of his blind father who made such beautiful tapestries.

No one had known his was blind—no one, until he had gotten sick, and then his father had left his job, leaving his mother to care for them.

He'd hated his life after that, until—until the old lady came. She was something to live for.

She knew his secrets—well, save for one. She knew how he had spent his life; she knew where he had lived for three years.

He knew that she was sad, and lonely, and missed her children—especially her eldest daughter, who thought she was dead.

"I willed the cottage to her and her family," the woman told him one day as she knitted and he cooked. "Tell me, boy, is it still beautiful?"

"It's the most wonderful place, ma'am," he responded, flipping a potato pancake. "Full of light spilling in and even the smallest room with huge windows. And the garden in the back is full of beautiful plants and even some roses."

"It was always lovely," the woman said wistfully. Her white hair curled around her cloudy eyes as she knitted, a scarf—that was all she could make now without looking. "It was always lovely—but now it's dark. Just darkness."

He served her the pancakes, and she ate gracefully.

They suited each other, in an old way—the old blind woman, cast out from some high-and-mighty family because she married a commoner, and he, the invisible young man who had once worked in the palace.

He was glad, in a way, when she died—she had always wanted to be somewhere bright and beautiful. And now she was.

And he was left in his own kind of dark.

He felt as though he were drowning sometimes—like someone had smothered him with a wet pillow. He tossed and turned and ran from his demons in dreams, only to be confronted by them.

He ran through overgrown roses, the thorns tearing at his clothing and sobs echoing behind him.

And then he ran into a tall, pretty girl and the bright dreams became even more vivid and intense and suddenly he was swirling and twisting in a vortex of memories and fantasies and dreams and--

He awoke. And, as usual, he gathered up the sheets and took them and washed them. He hung them up just as the sun rose.

"Johan?"

He turned; Freira—_I am calm, Johan—she can't see me, after all--_stood there. "Good morning."

She smiled faintly. "Johan—I was looking at the tapestry in my room." She held her broken fingers (she hadn't told anyone _how_ they'd been broken, but they were) in one hand. "And—well, Johan—I'd—I'dliketotellyou—"

He put his hands on her shoulders, and she started; she'd been unaware of how close he was to her. "Slow down, Freira."

"I'd like to—to tell you what really happened to Calix."

Johan went still. Then he followed Freira into the cottage.

ش

Calix awoke. Usually he came to right away—he was asleep, and then he wasn't. But today was different. For a quarter of an hour he awoke; slowly, groggily. He stood and stretched, wincing. Sleeping in a chair was _not_ a good idea.

He looked in the mirror; his blue-black hair was horribly messy; messier than usual. Shaking it out, he turned and headed down to the kitchens.

He mulled over his tea and biscuits. What had happened last night?

(When he was sixteen he had gone drinking with some friends and had gotten drunk as four skunks. When he woke up the next morning, he'd had a hell of a headache and couldn't remember what had happened the night before. That was how he felt now, though he didn't have much of a headache.)

He thought—it was coming back to him slowly. That argument with Beast.

_I need to be treated with a little respect._

_Respect? As what? As a man? As a healer? As high society?_

_No. As a fellow human._

_As a fellow human? Let's look at that statement rationally. First of all, I am not human; in fact, I haven't been one for a hundred thirteen years. On top of that, I was human for merely eighteen years. I am more wolf than human, Healer. And second: I am a Queen. I might not be acting Queen, but I don't give a damn. And since I am Queen, I don't need to respect you. I could kill you right now for speaking treason against me, and it would be legal. So shut the hell up and leave me be!_

He was still angry, he thought—a little.

Wait, a corner of his reeling mind said, back up.

_And second: I am a Queen. I might not be acting Queen, but I don't give a damn. And since I am Queen, I don't need to respect you._

She was the _Queen?_

Calix sat straight up. She wouldn't have any reason to lie about something like that, would she?

He shook his head. Of course not; she obviously never left the palace.

She was the Queen?

Strangely, he could picture it; hell, she lived in a castle.

He racked his brain for information about the last Queen to rule. It was—oh, a hundred or so years ago, he knew.

She hadn't been a very good queen, as far as he knew. She'd been fourteen when she'd taken the throne, he thought, and the county had been in pretty bad shape. She struggled to fix it, and she _was _fair and just, but she was also known to be cold and cruel. She'd vanished four years after her coronation, and no one had ever been able to find her palace again—until Freira.

_Anyone who goes into Rose Forest vanishes, ev'ryone knows _that.

He set down his teacup and stood. The room he was forbidden to go in…perhaps it would give him some clues as to what happened. He left the kitchen.

He padded softly down the empty hallways, and pushed aside the dark velvet curtain that hid the servant's entrance from view.

The entrance hall was huge, and beautiful. For the first time during his sojourn in the castle, he actually looked at it.

It was made almost totally of white-and-parchment-colored marble, with a huge red carpet starting at the doors and the going up the steps. Large sconces held candles magicked to stay always lit—royalty could afford stuff like that.

He smiled faintly. They probably had their own wizard, once, so they wouldn't have to hire one.

He glanced up the steps at the polished banister.

When he lived in the city, and was rich, they'd had a grand staircase in their house. Of course, their staircase hadn't been nearly as grand as this one, but he and Minya and Freira had enjoyed sliding down the banister until their last days in the house. Even Minya, a grown woman, had loved it.

But this banister made the banister in the city look like twigs. It was the same color marble as the rest of the hall and so polished it shined like glass.

He approached it, and he could see his reflection.

It was almost worth running up those steps just to slide down it—who would see? But then he remembered he had a task at hand.

He turned away from the banister and his memories, and focused on the door of the forbidden room.

It was as magnificent as everything else in this place, and thus almost inconspicuous. Just a door. The handles were huge, though, and silver or—more likely—white gold. White gold was rare, although Imperial Soneh was the world's largest producer of it; it would be like a royal family to show off the country's products (not that he faulted them for it; white gold was prevalent in the palace since it was virtually Imperial Soneh's only export.).

He stretched his hand forward and touched the mirror-bright handle.

_I wouldn't enter if I were you._

He whirled; Regali sat there, amber eyes glowing. "Why not?"

_You would be dead before you could say, _Hello, Majesty.

"I live here—shouldn't I have a right to the property?" Calix asked.

_Everyone deserves his or her own private space. That room is hers. You can choose your own space and she'll respect that. She might be cruel and bitter but she's got her own code of respect. You get a bedroom and a space to call your own, and so does she._

He pulled his hand away. "I suppose that's fair," he said reluctantly.

_That's not what you _really _think._

Calix's jaw dropped. "You read minds, too?"

Regali stood and stretched. Her voice sounded smug. _I have been, oh, _gifted_ in a number of things. Reading minds of humans—or once-humans—is one. _

Calix's eyes narrowed. That cat—that cat was _not_ a cat. He scrutinized her. "What _are_ you?"

Regali actually laughed, and her smile was so obvious it was easily seen on her cat face. _That, boy, is for you to find out._

And, in a moment, she was gone.

ش

Beast dreamt.

She dreamt of Johan and Calix and Adrena—_oh, Adrena—_and of her parents and even Maxmilien, the old fool.

She rarely dreamt, but when she did, she was wrought with nightmares of that night and of that damned enchantress.

These nightmares, about people, real people, were something new and strange and—dare she think it—wonderful.

She dreamt of Adrena more than anyone else—Adrena, whose eyes had always been filled with love for her, even when Beast had hit the servant and Adrena had cried.

_What have you done to my sister? Where did she go, Cally?_

_She's right here, Adrena. Grow up._

_No, she's not. She went away, leaving you this empty shell. Why did she go, Cally? Why did you let her go?_

Calista hadn't known. Neither did Beast.

She dreamt of Adrena sliding down the banister of the entrance hall, screaming with laughter, despite the fact that she was a twelve-year-old princess and the hall was full of ambassadors.

Supposedly, the ambassadors had been horrified, and the Queen had been appalled, but Beast and the King had simply thought it hilarious.

He ruffled Adrena's hair as he tucked the two girls in that night (at that point, Beast had taken to sleeping with Adrena, both for Adrena's comfort and her safety.). "They need to let their hair down more, lassies," he told them. "And I can guarantee that the ambassador from the Slipfan Empire—the leading power in the Western Continent—was greatly and pleasantly diverted. He enjoyed it, to say the least."

In her sleep, Beast whimpered. She would never have admitted that she did, but her body registered the whimper and she awoke with a sudden gasp and a cry of pain.

She jerked up and was off the bed in a moment. She sprinted through the halls and out to the garden.

It was sunny and cool as she entered, panting but not fatigued. She ran through the garden, pausing to look at the blue roses.

The blue roses were just there—Beast had never particularly admired them, although they were pretty. But now—they seemed different.

She approached them gently and moved her eyes close to them.

They were dripping in blood.

Beast knew what blood looked like; she was familiar with it, and that could be nothing else. She tried to pull away, but the roses stretched out like long thorny fingers and grabbed her muzzle.

She cried out as the thorns bit into the festering claw marks across her nose. The thorns tightened, and Beast turned and ran, the vines ripping out of her face.

She heard a dry, whispering laugh. She screamed in terror and found herself in front of the purple-red iridescent roses the palace was famous for.

She was almost calm as she breathed in their sweet scent, for a moment. Then the scent turned sickly and old and the sky darkened with thunderclouds and the roses shaped themselves in the semblance of a human body.

_Do you need help, Majesty? _The roses taunted. The human-bushes loomed around her, surrounding her as they leered at her dead form and suddenly she was looking down from above at a woman collapsed on the ground shaking with anger and tears and the woman turned into a wolf and then her chest stopped heaving and she lay still.

She woke up.

She fell off her bed with a start, and then pushed herself up, walking out onto the balcony, staring at the roses below.

"You won't win!" she screamed. The wind carried her voice and it echoed off of distant mountains. "_I won't let you win!_"

A dry whispering laugh—_it's just the wind, please oh please let it just be the wind—_echoed back to her and the whole world was silent.

Except for a steady dripping sound. Beast looked down.

Blood, crimson red, dripped from her nose to the ground.

She turned and looked at the drops of blood dribbling from the bed to where she stood. And, behind her, one thorny vine trailed, capped by a bloodstained blue rose.

ش

Freira had been considering entrusting her secret to Johan for two days, but until she had heard him whimpering in his bed she hadn't been sure. But she knew Johan was a kindred spirit, and the closest friend she had in this world.

When she visited the village, she would walk down the streets and keep her head high, trying to ignore the whispers that were plainly audible to her ears, but it was always hard.

_Poor thing. She used to be so rich, and here she is, without a cent. _

_Just look at that dress! 'Tis an awful mess!_

_Such a pretty little thing—my son wanted to court her, but her brother wouldn't let him. He's far to protective of her._

_She should be marrying the squire's son—he called on her for a time, but her brother threw him out. But my daughter likes _him_, and he is a good healer, so we have to forgive him._

_They're such a wretched family—so many problems, and in that awful little cottage—_

Freira was glad her brother had thrown out the squire's son—he had been trying to kiss her when Calix had entered the room. And she liked the cottage.

But what was worse was the pity in their faces. It was obvious that even the squire's son pitied, her.

That was why she liked Johan—even if her did pity her (though he hid it well) she couldn't tell. He was invisible.

So she spilled her story to him, who listened quietly, asking questions only to clarify.

Johan, meanwhile, remained perfectly still. His mind reeled with thoughts of that palace—oh, that palace he knew so well.

"Well," he said when Freira had finished, "the wolf is quite clearly cursed—perhaps she's a member of the royal family or once worked at the palace."

Freira nodded. "I wasn't sure, but that's what I thought."

Johan continued. "That's definitely the royal palace. I've been there—" _Oh, shit, Johan, you've said too much_. "Or," he amended, "I've seen it. I didn't go in because I was afraid and it was on a dare."

Freira's eyes, which had registered surprise a moment before, suddenly lit up. "Maybe," she said excitedly, "Maybe Calix can somehow break the wolf's curse and that's why she wants him!"

Johan felt like laughing and crying at the same time.

_Oh, Freira, if only you knew._

Because the wolf wasn't the only one cursed.

ش

Calix was stunned to hear a clawing at his door the evening after he had nearly entered the forbidden room. He was even more stunned when he opened the door and the clawing was not Regali, but Beast, with thorns wrapped around her muzzle and a vine trailing.

He let her in without a word, and helped her onto his bed. He placed his hands in a bowl of water quickly, and without worrying about soap, he removed the vine.

He sponged off the wound, and, as he went to go get some rose oil to clean the festering gashes on her face, she hopped off the bed and left silently.

His head spun from a sudden exhaustion, and suddenly the dark closed in on him and he collapsed onto the bed, asleep.

ش

Beast had barely gone thirty feet when she felt dizzy.

_Relax,_ she told herself, _It's just loss of blood._

She willed herself to get to her rooms, but a crack of thunder made her jump and the whispering laugh echoed in her ears.

Darkness consumed her. Any strength she had was gone. She fell on the floor and allowed unconsciousness to consume her.

_…It's dark to me. It overpowers everything…_

* * *

_Thanks for your wonderful reviews. I'd like more please. Oh, and here... :hands out cyber-cookies:_

_Once more, free cyber-cookies in your favorite flavor--we even have strawberry-potato flavored cyber-cookies with radish sprinkles! (thanks, Miss Piratess!)_


	6. Romance

A/N: OK, I keep wanting to bring this up, but I keep forgetting about it.

As some of you may have noticed (but have still not commented on), there are some discrepancies in the first couple chapters; the spelling of Johan's name and how Calix's mother died, as a couple of examples. I know they're there, really I do, and, once this story is done, I plan to correct everything to the way it is in the second chapter and beyond. After all, it's a writer's prerogative to change her mind.

And, some people, I guess forgot; there is an invisible man who has been living in Freira's and Johnal's (Johnal is Calix's dad, remember?) cottage since before they moved in. It's kinda obvious he has other connections in the story, but if you haven't figured it out yet, too bad.

Thanks for the lovely reviews…:hands out cyber-cookies to all—making sure Mizamour gets and M&M cookie and everyone else gets…well, we have an excess of strawberry-potato cookies…:

And, I hate to break it to all you guessers out there, but no, the thorns that 'got' Beast are not poisoned.

**Romance**

Freira was lonesome.

She would walk down the marketplace alone, a three-cubit circle around her at all times.

Ever since Calix's 'disappearance,' she'd been treated like the plague. No one came near her unless she was buying something; in the streets, she wasn't approached or talked to. She could still hear the gossips, though; they didn't even bother to speak in a whisper.

_Wonder where he went…_

_He has a mistress, back in the city, and he got her pregnant and she's just now had the baby._

_He's a right-winger! He's going to put us all under tyranny!_

_He's an anarchist! He'll kill us all!_

_His boyfriend in the city missed him, and he went back to please him. Isn't it obvious?_

That one had made her throw down her basket and approach the woman—the milliner's apprentice, Marini—and grab her by the shoulders like Calix taught her, and say, "My brother does _not_ have a boyfriend! And how _dare _you even assume that? In fact," she said, looking around at the gathering crowd, "How dare you assume anything? My brother has left on business. He may never come back; he may be back tomorrow—we don't know. But until we all die or he comes back, don't you even _think _about slandering his name!"

She had then punched Marini in the face. It had been strangely enlightening.

But the gossip still happened, only quietly, and she missed Calix more than ever; he'd been gone nearly a week now and she hated it. She'd never been without her brother for this long.

And Johan—she sighed as she reached the fountain in the town square and took a seat. Ever since she had told him where Calix had really gone, he seemed to be avoiding her.

Or, she amended, slightly bemused; he's just not talking. He could be following her right now for all she knew.

But she missed him. She missed his voice that smiled when he did, and his laugh that came, warm and rich, from his belly. She missed talking with him about anything and everything, and she missed the way he made her feel—loved. She liked to feel loved.

Of course, she thought, observing the 'discreet' gossipers and the open space between her and the other people with a jaundiced eye, anyone would give heaven and hell to feel loved in _this_ town.

"Hey, Freira!"

She turned, and groaned inwardly.

The squire's son approached her. He was handsome—not so terribly tall, maybe three or four inches taller than her, but still five or six inches shorter than Calix. He had sun-streaked brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a strong, muscular frame.

According to the gossips, they looked well together.

Freira winced visibly as she remembered that comment.

"Disappointed I'm showing up, Freira?" he asked.

She blushed politely. "Not at all, Soshon. I just felt a rock in my slipper, that's all." She reached one finger into her shoe, and with the other, picked up a small pebble. "See?"

Soshon stood about four cubits away from her, and as she stood, picking up her market basket, he bowed. "Do you care to enlighten us, Freira?"

"What?"

The crowds began to gather around them. Soshon continued. "Please, tell us what happened to your brother. We're all _dying_ to know."

Freira raised her eyebrows, although inside, she was shaking with nervousness. "Since when did this become your business?"

Marini came up next to Soshon, her black eye still prominent. "Since you began beating us up over him," she said coolly.

"No," Freira corrected softly, standing on the fountain ledge so she had seven more inches of height. "According to you, it was your business when you began to wonder. When you began to gossip."

"Oh, really?" a woman yelled from the crowd. "Did someone confess this to you, city-girl?"

_Calix_, Freira begged, _now would be a really good time to show up!_

"You all did," Freira responded, raising her voice so it carried over the crowd. "Every time you gossiped, every time you formulated another story about what happened to him, every time you created some fabrication as to why we're here, that's when you decided it was your business."

She paused. There was total silence, though Soshon was laughing. She continued before the laughter could spread.

"But you see, it's not your business. It's not your business at all. What caused my father, Calix, and I to show up here and where exactly Calix is right now are subjects that belong in our family alone. And you, my good townspeople, are most certainly _not_ family."

She picked up her basket again and was preparing to step down when a woman yelled, "And that invisible servant of your? Is he part of your family?"

A collective snicker washed through the group.

_What would Calix do?_ Calix would walk away—no. That wouldn't work for her. He would get away with it, but she would not.

_What would Minya do?_ Minya would have a smart comeback. Minya would stun them with a biting remark—and it didn't take much to stun the townspeople of Vanderwood.

But Freira wasn't as sharp-tongued as Minya—wait...

Freira smirked. "Well, Mistress Baker, that all depends on whether you folks decide if I'm in bed with him or not."

She had to control the urge to laugh out loud at the looks on the townspeople's faces.

ش

Beast wasn't quite sure if she was asleep or awake; she had slipped straight from dream into memory.

_She was wandering one day, when, by pure chance, she had stumbled upon the weaving room. _

_Johan sat there, his brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, strands escaping. His fingers flew deftly over the loom, and, as Beast watched, a picture of a boy holding a fish, grinning, appeared. _

_Her heart melted a little. He looked a little like Johan, but not quite, and his face seemed so clear it was almost like the finest painting. "Who is that?" she asked._

_Johan started, stood quickly, and bowed. "Majesty, I'm sorry—I didn't know you were here."_

_"Never mind that!" Beast growled angrily. "Answer my question!"_

_"My brother," Johan stated softly. "Sebastien. He's fifteen right now." Beast approached the tapestry until her nose hovered moments away from it. Tiny freckles adorned the boy's nose, and his teeth were slightly crooked. Johan continued. "He was about twelve, I think, when this happened—we went fishing, and the fish he caught was absolutely huge. I—I needed a happy memory," he finished lamely. "Something not grand or epic like most tapestries."_

_For the first time, Beast's eyes scanned the room. In one corner, she saw rolls of fabric—good heavens, there had to be fifteen of them, and he had only been there a week. "Did you—" she started, her voice cracking a little, "Did you—_make_ all of these?"_

_Johan did not blush—he didn't seem to be the type to blush—but he nodded embarrassedly. _

_"May I—see them?" Beast asked._

_"You only need to order," Johan said. "You _are _the Queen."_

_Had Beast been human, she would've fought an ashamed blush. She had never been bothered by a similar comment before, though—why did it trouble her now?_

_Only slightly disturbed, she made her way over to the tapestries, where Johan had laid them out, leaving just enough room between each one for her to walk comfortably. _

_They were beautiful. _

_Some were small and peaceful, portraying faeries sitting in moonlight next to small rippling pools of water; others were grand and epic: unicorn hunts and Taurus fights and battles. There was one of the castle, and one of a bustling village she'd seen in the stained glass window of the throne room. _

_She looked up at Johan, awe clear in her eyes. "You like them?" he asked, almost shyly. _

_"They're beautiful," she whispered reverently. Nothing, or no one, had ever made her feel this way, so vulnerable but safe all at once. _

_She glanced back at Johan. His throat tightened. "They remind me of home," he said softly. She got up and sat next to him involuntarily, a gesture that surprised them both. In a moment, he wrapped an arm around her neck. "You do, too," he added, "In a warped way. Like my dog and my father's mumblings about the 'cursed queen' all in one."_

_She felt like smiling. _

Suddenly, the happy memory vanished, and, in its place appeared a violent and unhappy one.

_"I can rule!" The young Queen Calista cried. "And I can do it well!" How _dare _you accuse me of being incapable just because I am young!"_

_She stood in a small room off the throne room, with the King's advisors. It was just three days after the death of her family, but Calista knew that she had to convince the advisors that she was Queen. She was the heir, and she would to anything it took to get on that throne. _

_Her father's closest advisor, Joseph Lang, a man of nearly forty years of age, said, "But that is not just it, Princess. You are not only young but also a woman as well, and an unmarried one at that. You have neither the wisdom, strength, or fortitude to rule well." _

_"I am the Queen," Calista said calmly to the five advisors in front of her. "I am not the Princess. I am fluent in eight languages. I have been trained in history and diplomacy since the age of three. I know what it takes to rule, and I am willing to do _anything_ it takes to get there." Too late she realized that the meaning of her words might be misconstrued, but she did not take them back. _

_"Anything?" one of the advisors, a younger man, asked._

_The tension already present in the air thickened. All six of them knew what the man meant. The five advisors agreed to it with hardly a glance. They looked towards Calista. _

_Her face was serious and calm; her eyes were set; and only bitterness and ambition were clear on her countenance._

_"Anything," she said softly. _

ش

Beast awoke with the sudden horror of the memory, and what became of it.

_No. No._

She could not afford to think of it—not when there were so many other nightmares fresh in her mind. Calix's arrival had done strange things to her thoughts that had, with ninety-eight years of solitude, had developed into almost a wolf-like pattern. Now, she was beginning to think like a human again, to long to grown and learn again, and to be interested in everything. After all, she was primarily human; she just had a wolf's body.

She made her way to the throne room, nudging open the doors. Steadily she walked past the rose, not looking at it, and past the portrait, her eyes catching the ripped canvas and causing her to shudder. She sat down in front of the stained-glass window, and waited.

She had never actually waited for a vision before; usually she was just there, and suddenly they appeared out of the corner of her eye and she saw them. But now, she was going to sit here, and wait until a vision appeared.

She didn't have to wait very long.

A room appeared, and a girl ran in, laughing. She was fairly tall, with blue-black hair and gray eyes and—damn, it was Calix's sister. The girl collecting roses that one day—was it just a week ago? It had seemed like ages.

"I can't believe it, Johan!" she said, her eyes merry and bright.

_Sound._

She had never heard sound in her visions before, but now it was as clear as a bell, as though she were there, echoing in her mind like a memory or a dream. She could hear the girl's footsteps and the basket in her arms bouncing off the bed as she tossed it down.

Wait. Johan?

She looked closely, and then she could see a figure—a tall, thin figure with a ponytail down his back, in a pair of neat, clean breeches and a shirt—the same as he'd always been.

He was the faintest outline; she could barely see him—and, remembering that day—_Oh no not that horrible day_—she remembered that she couldn't see him at all then. It must be, she decided, a trick of the window--the scrying glass, that's what they were called.

Johansmiled, and said, "Freira, you did good."

She stopped her flurries of movement and her body went still. She sat on the bed. "Thank you," she said softly. He came to stand beside her, and she looked up at him, her eyes still bright, but softer now—sweeter. "I am sorry, though."

He looked down, and Beast could see his face, though Freira could not, and she gasped. The ardor in his eyes was unmistakable as he smiled faintly at her.

Beast's heart fell suddenly. She wanted to turn away, but her body would not let her move. How long had she wanted to see that ardor in his eyes? How long?

And here he was, bestowing his love on someone else—and, she realized with a start—Calix's sister!

Fate was the cruelest of torturers.

Johan looked slightly confused. "Why should you be sorry?"

The girl—Freira—blushed. "Well, now they'll think we're—we're—you know! I just ruined your reputation."

A smile crossed Johan's handsome face. "I had a reputation?"

Freira giggled. "All right then, no, you don't." She sobered. "But—I have a reputation, and, I know it's selfish, but I've just destroyed it." Thinking back on it, she grinned. "Though I s'pose it was worth it." They both laughed a little. Freira continued. "I just—I just don't want you to think poorly of me."

Johan frowned. "Why would I think poorly of you? I l—I like you a lot, Freira. You're one of my closest friends."

"But—but I've just insinuated to the entire town that we're sleeping together! Don't you care?"

Johan sat next to Freira on the bed. "To tell you the truth, Freira, I wouldn't mind if we did."

Her head snapped back as if she'd been slapped. "What?"

He looked down. "Not, just that, though—I mean—oh, Freira, I—I love you."

Freira's eyes widened.

Beast finally managed to turn away.

There was silence, and a rustling. When she glanced back, Freira and Johan were kissing.

She whimpered a little. And walked out of the room.

She couldn't think, wouldn't think, shouldn't think. In a moment she was outside and hunting with the pack, doing something mindless, pleasant, and wolf-like. But the sight—the last thing she'd seen of Johan—haunted her, floating on the back of her eyelids as though tattooed there.

From a tall window in the castle, Regali watched her. Her amber eyes watched Beast's morose form move swiftly through the forest. The mirror next to her shimmered with the picture of Johan and Freira.

Regali closed her eyes in horror. _This wasn't supposed to happen. But what can I do?

* * *

_

The plot thickens! Anyway, please review! I'll try to have the next chapter up soon.

Signing off,  
nebulia


	7. Truth and Lies

A/N: Shall I tell you the end of this sad tale? At the end, everyone except Calix dies, and a young author named nebulia randomly appears, so Calix marries her. Yup.

Actually, I think Calix is the coolest character I've ever written, so I'm kinda falling in love with him.

Anyway, this story is over 14,000 words long, and I definitely have lots of plot left, but I'm planning it to be around 50,000-60,000 words long—novel-length-ish. So there's a lot left. And no, no authors named nebulia will be showing up. I know this chapter is a bit shorter than most, and not much happens—it's a little of a transition chapter, and I almost considered splitting it up—it's just two parts, but I find it a little ironic. I also rather like it. For some reason, I just totally lost my groove for a week and sorta forgot how to write, but yesterday and this morning it just came back to me…I think it's because I HAD MY LAST FINAL TODAY AND NOW HAVE NO MORE SCHOOL!

Sorry. Can you tell I'm excited about this?

Thanks for the reviews. I'm sorry it's confusing, but that's the way it's gotta be. I'm a confusing person, full of depth and profound thoughts and…oh, shut up. And, in answer to AngelicPirate's question: No, it wasn't a memory—Beast has 'visions' that she sees in the stained glass behind the throne in the throne room, and sometimes in other glass things. Sorta like the mirror in the Disney movie, only she can't control them. And yep, the cyber-cookies have weird flavors. Sorry. Today's special is steam-cooked buttered asparagus flavored with chocolate chips, or you can always request a flavor. But really, tha asparagus cookies are quite good.

Anyway, the next chapter. Here it is.

**Truth and Lies**

Calix slept for—well, damn, he didn't know how long. He woke up alert, too alert, like he'd had too much of Granny Smith's black tea in the village.

His head reeled when he sat up, as if he'd had too much to drink. He placed a hand to his temple and winced. His fingers probed a lump, and he pulled his hand away and looked around.

_Odd._

He wasn't in his bed. Rather, he was on the floor, hopelessly tangled in his blankets. And he didn't remember dreaming last night.

He stood; slowly, so that he wouldn't be dizzy. His vision spun once he got to his feet anyway. He carefully walked into the washroom, and pumped some water into the basin. Splashing it on his face and neck, he looked up into the mirror.

What a nightmare.

His face was covered with day-old stubble, dark and fine against his pale cheeks. His hair was sticking up all over the place, and he possessed a large yellow-blue bruise on his left temple, stretching down to his ear and into his hair. He decided it was from falling off the bed.

He ran through his mind, picking through every memory. He had none of dreaming the night before.

Calix was a still sleeper; he rarely tossed or turned. To fall out of bed was unheard of for him, even if he'd had a nightmare. But if he couldn't remember a single dream—

_Shut up,_ a part of his mind said. _Don't say anything. Don't think. You have research to do._

He remembered now; he wanted to read up—at least what he could—on the Queen—Beast.

He quickly washed himself with a cloth, not wanting to bother with a bath. In doing so, he found another bruise on his left side and one on his right shoulder blade. They unnerved him; but he ignored it as best he could.

He quickly dressed and picked up the blankets. Underneath was the bloody rose he had taken off of Beast's muzzle.

His heart stopped for the briefest moment. Perhaps…he shook his head. How could a rose lure him out of bed so he ended up bruised black and blue? It was just some weird effect of the sudden shift in lifestyle he'd had in the past week.

He ignored it and walked out on the balcony. It was cloudy and dark out, but the wind was refreshing in his face.

It was so quiet. Just the rustling of the trees and the howling of the wind. He felt the breeze blow his hair around, messing it up even more.

The silence was unnerving—it was so different than the constant bustle of the village—yet he liked it. It was so peaceful.

He turned to the bookshelves next to the balcony doors. Beast had pointed them out to him the day he arrived, but he'd never actually looked at them. Now he did.

They were full of medical texts, but that came as no surprise to him; Beast had told him about them. He opened one; it described surgical procedures. Interested, he flipped through it. Unsurprisingly, they hadn't changed much. The situation in Imperial Soneh—basically anarchy, no matter how peaceful it might've been—didn't allow for much technical development.

He set the book on the desk and grabbed several more tomes from the shelf, skimming through them. The last one, a slightly slimmer volume—two hundred pages instead of eight hundred—finally gave him some information.

It was a journal of a doctor. It began at Beast's apparent birth, a hundred thirty-one years before, and ended at her coronation.

He went down to the kitchen and got breakfast, reading the whole time. He sat down at the table, totally engrossed.

_The Heir's eighth physical went as well as we could have planned, but it has been a month, and now she is feverish and pale. Her fever has been rising for three days and she has become delirious just in this last hour. My colleagues and I have narrowed it down to a severe, and somewhat rare, brain fever. However, we can't do anything to cure the brain fever, other than sweat it out and make sure she eats. We must watch her very closely, because this disease often ends in insanity. Knowing the Princess' current, state, we cannot allow the two children of the Monarchs be afflicted with this terrible malady. _

A week later the log said, _The Heir's fever has broken, and though she is still weak, she shows no signs of insanity. She starts training again today. _

Training?

Calix flipped through the rest of the journal and finally surmised that the training the healer spoke of was simply training to be a royal.

So, Beast had brain fever when she was eight. He turned back to the page he ended on and read through the rest of the journal. It ended on the very last page, three days before her coronation.

_The Queen came to me today asking for a contraceptive spell. _

Calix dropped the book. "What?" he asked aloud, picking it up.

_The Queen came to me today asking or a contraceptive spell._

Calix knew how to do a contraceptive spell—it was a spell designed so that only a trained healer could use it, to keep a woman from conceiving. Why would _Beast_ need a contraceptive spell?

He decided to read on.

_I am stunned. I have, of course, heard rumors from the servants; allegedly a butler overheard the Queen and the advisors making a deal--they wouldn't let her rule unless she had sexual intercourse with them. _

_However, I am faithful to the Queen and confident that she will make a much better ruler than the advisors. So, I performed the spell, and told her to be careful. She thanked me and left. _

_I am afraid for my Queen. Once, even just three years ago, she had some small amount of love. But now she has no love in her eyes—only ambition. _

It ended there. Calix stared at the book, stunned and even a little horrified.

"Surprised?"

He whirled; Beast stood in the doorway to the kitchen. The marks on her face had scabbed over and had begun to heal, and she now looked much like she had before she'd been attacked by the rose. Her voice was bitter but unbroken, smooth and almost smirking. Her green eyes met his. "You didn't expect _me _to do that, did you? You're just beginning to discover you don't know anything about me, and you're not liking what you find, right?"

He nodded as if under a spell, still stunned and beginning to get angry.

"Well, you know something, _Calix_?" she said, using his name out loud for the first time, her voice cracking. "I'm discovering some shit I don't like about _your_ family so you can just shut the hell up!" She bounded forward in a great leap, and suddenly her paws were on his shoulders and he was backed up against the table. "You don't need to know anything about me," she hissed. "You will--"

_Shut up, Majesty._

Regali's voice echoed in both their heads. Beast suddenly backed off, on all fours again. "What do _you _want?" she cried angrily.

_I want you to stop talking. He has a right to know._

"No, he doesn't! He has no rights! I am the Queen here, and _I_ determine who has the rights!"

_There hasn't been a Queen for a hundred and thirteen years. You haven't worn the Crown since your transformation. And you haven't acted like a Queen for just as long, if not longer. You are not the Queen. There is no Queen._

Beast said nothing, but hatred was clear in her emerald eyes. She turned and stalked out. Regali graced Calix with a sad, apologetic look, and vanished. Literally vanished.

Calix looked at the book, at the door, and then at the spot where Regali sat. He sat down at the table and asked for a slice of chocolate cake.

ش

Freira stood at her window, staring into the forest.

"Freira?"

She turned and smiled at the door, and, consequently, Johan. "Hello."

"What are you looking at?" His voice approached her; she felt him take her hand.

"Oh…" Freira blushed.

"What?"

"Well, I…I know it's fruitless, but I was trying to see the palace." Freira hung her head embarrassedly.

Johan wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his nose in her hair. "It's all right. I did that for years after I saw it. It—it draws you, doesn't it? So you always want to find it again, to see its beauty, its horror."

She nodded. "Yes." Something occurred to her. "And the wolf? Do you know who she is?"

Johan's body tensed. Freira noticed. "You do?"

She felt him shake his head. "No," he said, voice muffled. "No. I didn't know there was a wolf until you told me."

She slipped out of his embrace and turned to him, angry. "You do! I felt you when I asked. I know you know—why can't you tell me?"

_Because—because—_

He kissed her; a soft, short kiss that left Freira tingling, but still angry. He took her elbows in his hands and kissed her again, a little longer, pulling her into his arms. When he pulled away he looked into her face. "No, Freira. No. I don't know who she is."

Freira leaned her head against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him. "How can I believe you when I can't look into your eyes?" she asked softly. "How do I know you're telling me the truth?"

He stroked her hair, as confused as she was. "I don't know," he whispered, so soft it was like a dream. "I don't know."

* * *

Post A/N: OK, this is written way before any of the normal author's note at the top is. I just finished this chapter, edited it, and told my friend I liked the irony of this chapter. Well, she read it, and said, "What irony?" 

So I need you guys to answer a debate: Personally, I find the irony of Johan's lying to Freira and Calix's discovery of a little of Beast's past ironic. (yes, the irony is ironic.)My friend does not. I won't kill you if you agree with her, but I want to know what you think.


	8. Magic

A/N: I feel properly chastised. Ya happy?

I guess because I am the writer of this story, I saw irony where there wasn't. I do like the juxtaposition of Calix's finding the truth versus his sister's only learning lies, still, and so that's ok. Anyway, new chapter. It's kind of short, but I'm almost halfway done and I'm leaving on vacation, so this was the best I could do at the moment. I did, however, watch Beauty and the Beast for inspiration, so perhaps I'll have another chapter up soon. Don't expect anything earlier than July 16, though.

Hey--and don't ask who Regali is. This chapter gives some clues as to _what_ she is, though.

And I've been forgetting a disclaimer: I own the characters, but I don't own the basic premise of the plot. Note I said basic premise. As in beginning and possibly the ending. Possibly.

**

* * *

Magic **

Calix stood in the rose garden. It was a beautiful place, quiet and still and peaceful. And yet—

He could still feel something underneath, and undercurrent of some strange emotion—bitterness, maybe, or sadness, or simply anger. He reached and brushed on of the deep purple iridescent roses. In the light of the overcast sky, they looked black, he thought. They were beautiful, though. He reached out a finger and stroked a velvety-soft petal.

_You really think so? _A voice in his head said.

Calix started, looking around. The voice was whispery, different than Regali's. Regali's was clearly female; though he couldn't really hear it, which was how she projected into his brain. But this was not. It had no sex. It was just a whisper.

"Where are you?" he called.

_I'm right in front of you. _

He turned back to the roses; they were suddenly twisting and moving. He backed away. "The roses?"

_Yes. _

Calix was speechless. He couldn't say anything. Finally, he croaked out, "Why?"

The roses laughed. _This is a magical castle, human. Everything talks. _

Calix nodded, feeling woozy, lightheaded, like he'd been drugged. "Of course."

_So,_ the roses said, _You think we're beautiful?_

Calix nodded mutely.

_And indeed we are. Beautiful—and deadly. _

"What?"

_We could kill you this very instant._

Calix backed away instinctively.

The roses laughed again. _No, we won't. But we _could. _If we wanted to. _

Calix nodded. "Of course."

_We guard the castle, like the cat. _

"You mean Regali?" Calix asked, slightly interested.

_The only cat around, human. We have long protected the place, keeping it safe and wonderful and clean. There were few servants ever here—a handful of maids, a few butlers, the typical ladies' maids and manservants, weavers and laundry girls, and, of course, a half dozen members on the cooking staff. But we have done most of the work._

"Yet you let it get cursed."

The roses laughed, their dry whispering voices grating his ears. _Who says _we_ didn't curse it, human?_ They twisted and shifted and spread, and is was as if something—or someone—had placed a small seed of fear in his heart suddenly, and he turned and ran.

ش

Regali remembered the coronation well. It had been on a bright, sunny day, and Calista had never lookd so fragile, nor so beautiful.

She herself had been in her top form, a tall, elegant woman of great beauty. She had stood in the back, near a portrait, wrapped in and ermine stole and wearing a simple dress of fine cloth.

The man next to her, at one point, had nudged her and said, "Excuse me, ma'am, but you bear an astonishing likeness to the Queen in the picture behind you."

She had smiled and thanked the man and had then watched the Princess. What did one say to that, anyway?

She had always been the one to guard the girl, to chastise her, to advise her. Calista did not like Regali, yet she listened to the cat grudgingly, and even occasionally took her advice. Regali had never been proud when this had happened; she rarely showed emotions other than irritation or bland amusement. Things were easier that way, she thought.

But as she watched Calista, her sharp amber eyes noticed things. The girl--for she was no more than that--was pale as death, and there was the faintest outline of a handprint on her cheek, unnoticable to everything but the sharpest vision. More obvious were five fingerprint buises on her neck, clearly visible above the white ermine off-the-shoulder collar of her gown.

"Rough sex, huh?" the man next to her remarked to another man. They snickered quietly. Regali held back her rage with difficulty--not at the men, but at Calista.

At the ball afterwards, a tall, haughtily beautiful woman had swept by the new Queen. Calista thought she heard her mutter, "Ambition goes before a fall," but she had never been quite sure.

ش

_She woke up in a bed that wasn't hers, in a room with bright sunlight streaming in. _

_Her body ached. She opened her crusty eyes; they felt puffy. She licked her dry lips; they came off salty. She could feel dry tears on her face, mingled with dried fear-sweat, cold and exhausting. _

_When she sat up she realized she was naked, and the memories all came rushing back to her. _

_The pain, and the tears, and the laughter. She glanced down at the blood splashed across the sheets, and over at the sleeping man next to her. _

_He slept peacefully, totally unaware that she was up and he had a job to do today. _

_She found her dressing-gown and slid into it. The coronation was today; she'd better get ready. What was the point of dwelling in the thoughts of last night. She'd have to be a lot better composed next time. _

_As she left, she glanced her face in the mirror. A handprint was splayed across her face, and her neck was bruised with five neat fingerprints. _

_Hmm. She hadn't even noticed _that_. She shrugged and left._

Now, she could dwell in the pain that she had buried deep in her heart. Power may have corrupted absolutely, but so had the lack of it. Now she had time to do nothing—though she never did exactly nothing. Her mind forced her to relive every awful nightmare of her life, of those horrible years.

It had been painful, she admitted to herself. But it had also been necessary. The only way she could gain the power she needed was if she had done what she had done.

And what she had done was good; for both her and her country.

Perhaps she had been too cruel; perhaps she had simply not cared. But she knew that her father's advisers would have been even worse. They had no souls; they merely wanted power.

And yet Beast wondered if that was all she wanted, too.

She had struggled, though, to make her country better. She had ruled everything fairly, pushing aside ever personal bias. She might've taxed heavily, but it was a time of worldly unrest and a huge world war had been on the verge of breaking out.

Who knew what was going on now? Perhaps there had been a war already. Perhaps it was over, and the entire world lived in peace. But what she knew was that no one had wanted the white gold of Imperial Soneh—no one had had any need for it. And so there were no exports, no source of income for the country.

She had taxed, then; the taxes in her father's time had been small, almost insignificant, and she had raised them to pay for the food and supplies her country imported—things like fresh fruit and cabbage. Imperial Soneh could grow wheat, and corn, and a selection of vegetables, but its climate was not tropical enough to grow fruit, and everyone needed fruit, Beast thought (of course, she had always been a great lover of pineapples and grapes, so perhaps that was it).

And then she had given up. When she had drained the entire economy, she stopped all imports. The country was in debt—every citizen owed money to the government, and the government owed money right back. Almost a year before the –the transformation, Beast cancelled all debts to and of the government and told everyone to survive.

It had helped. The economy began to grow, slightly. The wheat growers in the south traded with the potato growers in the north and the corn farmers in the center of the country. Merchants began to start trades up. The country began to run on its own, and, just to make sure, Beast executed all five advisers. And then she sat on her throne and ordered around the servants with more and more bitterness and cruelty. Her anger at the world grew, and, as it grew, so did her hatred.

That was how Calista's life had ended, and Beast's life began.

It hurt to think of it. But what hurt more was spending the rest of her life—her eternal life—as a wolf. She could see no future as anything else, now, with Johan in love with someone else—_no Beast. He never loved you. Never. If he had, you would be human now._

She lay on the cool marble floor of the throne room, eyes closed. She didn't want to look at her portrait, or her parents' portrait, or at the stained glass. She wanted only one thing: to be human. To be six years old and to cry in her father's arms like she had when she had cut herself with the roses.

_"Papa!" _

_She ran into the Throne Room sobbing, right in the middle of a Court session. She had sprinted, half-stumbling, down the plush red carpet, holding the palm of her right hand in her left, not even noticing the other members of Court. When she reached the throne, she threw herself into her father and mumbled something incoherent about roses and hurts and blood._

_He had adjourned Court and carried her to the healing room, where he had personally cleaned her hand and wrapped the five thorn wounds on her palm and fingers. Then he had let her sob in his arms until she had slipped into sleep, sucking her thumb. _

_She remembered it as if it were yesterday, and told it to Johan as such. They were sitting in front of the fire in the library, and he had been telling her about his childhood. Then he had asked her if she had ever hurt herself on the roses, and she had suddenly spilled the story to him. _

_"And that—was what happened," she finished, ashamed almost. _

_But Johan was not laughing at her. He rubbed her ears and said, "Do you have scars?"_

_Beast should've been angry. Her mind was telling her to be angry and her heart was refusing._

_Johan suddenly realized his mistake, and said, "I mean—I didn't mean to—" he broke off, embarrassed, and a little afraid, she thought._

_"Up until—well, _that day_, I did," she said. "Now, I'm not so sure. I guess they're still there somewhere, but I can't see them."_

_Johan nodded, but said nothing more. He leaned against the chair and set his head into her lap. _

_They sat silently for hours, and it was then Beast realized that she was in love. _

_It had been the best thing that had ever happened to her. She actually felt less wolfish the next day, as though her body was slowly changing. She sat next to Johan while he weaved; not saying anything, but watching him work his magic. _

_And yet he did not love her. She knew it, because she was still a wolf, and so the curse was still there. Until the day he left, the curse was still there. _

ش

And it was still there, and would be forevermore. She knew it; Calix did not love her and she did not love him and she knew neither of them ever would.

But he could not leave. She knew it and Regali knew it and even Regali's kittens knew it. And so she hated him for it, for staying, and hated the fact that he would be here as long as she and she couldn't do anything about it.

There was nothing to do, and there never would be. And Beast still was not bored.

Perhaps that was part of the curse as well.


	9. Silence

A/N: Wow. I was surprised to have this chapter ready so quickly, but I was also disappointed to see no reviews _whatsoever_ for Chapter eight. How depressing was that?

(To tell you the truth, I can't believe my cyber-cookies had so much of an impact. And yep, that's my idea of a joke.)

But anyway, I present to you…Chapter nine!

**

* * *

Silence**

_I wish I wasn't flesh and blood_

_I would not be scared…_

_For then I could be saved_

_--Garbage, "Metal Heart"_

Time passed.

Calix had spent nearly a month at the palace, reading and speaking with Regali or her kittens occasionally. He hadn't seen Beast since that fateful day when he had learned how she had truly gained the throne, and, for that, he was happy.

But it also led him to believe she was avoiding him.

As Calix explored the palace, he had found several secret passageways, most of these too small for him to get through. However, he thought that there were probably more passageways to get around, and alternate hallways and corridors. Beast had the advantage, and she was making sure that they never spoke. And sometimes Calix felt eyes on him; however, when he looked around, there was no one there.

_Although_, he mused, _that could've been Regali just as easily._

But, three weeks after the fight, they met in the garden.

Calix enjoyed the garden, except for the clearing where the dark roses were. Unfortunately, it was a central clearing, he thought—the garden was so large he wasn't sure. Or maybe the garden moved, adjusted, changed. Either way, the dark roses seemed like the center of the garden, and they scared him out of his wits. But he discovered places that seemed like simple trellises were actually doors, and there were small passages through the myriad of roses. And it was in one of these small passages that he ran into Beast. Literally.

It was dark; the sun was setting behind thickening clouds and Calix needed some time outside. He dodged into a passage behind some white roses and suddenly tripped over something. "Umph!"

He pushed himself into a sitting position and turned to face the wolf.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Beast growled, her voice low.

Calix glared at her. "Can't I enjoy the garden as much as you?"

She rolled her eyes, irritated, and sat down. "I _suppose_. But," she added, "There's a clearing on the other side of that hedge that is easier to use than this passage. Why aren't you using _it_?"

Perhaps it was the scent of the roses or the fact that he was having a civil—strained, but still civil—conversation with Beast in a passageway in the garden or the fact that it was evening and the rules seemed different in the dark, but Calix told her the truth. "I'm afraid of the dark roses." Then he turned the question on her. "But _you_ could use the clearing as easily as I—"

"They scare me, too," Beast growled angrily. "Are you happy now?"

"Perfectly," Calix snapped.

There was a sudden cracking, shifting sound. Calix and Beast both looked back at the opening they had come through—the opening that was now shutting and masking itself, efficiently locking them in. "Oh, _shit_," the wolf muttered.

"What?" Calix asked.

"The roses have a mind of their own," Beast said wearily. "They have a damn stupid sense of humor and they've locked us in." She nodded to the gap behind Calix. They both watched it shut as well.

"So we're stuck here for the rest of the night?"

Had Beast been human, she would've thrown up her hands in exasperation. "Hell if I know!" she quipped. "We could be here for the rest of our bloody lives; we could be here for the next five minutes!"

"Oh," Calix said, glaring at her. "Wonderful."

"It's not my fault!" Beast hissed. "It's yours!"

"How is it mine?" Calix asked angrily. "I just walked into the bloody corridor and tripped over you! Was I supposed to know _this_ would happen?"

He was right, the sensible part of Beast's mind said. She turned away from him, to where she knew the dark roses were. "Is this your idea of a bad joke?" she yelled, her voice breaking, totally forgetting Calix was sitting next to her. "How much longer can you torture me?"

The dry voice echoed in only her ears. _Until the curse is broken._

"The curse will never break!" Beast screamed. "The rose will wilt and then I will be here for eternity!"

_You'll be surprised._

"Nothing surprises me anymore. Not even _you!_" she collapsed suddenly, exhausted.

Then she looked up into Calix's clear gray eyes.

She was filled with shame; he had seen her in her weakest moment and she could read the pity on his face like she could read a book. "Don't," she hissed, looking away.

"Don't what?" he asked, confused.

"Don't pity me. I don't want it."

"No one wants pity," he responded cryptically.

He hadn't answered the question, but she didn't feel like caring. She could still feel his eyes on her and they felt like they were burning holes in her flesh. She forced herself to meet his gaze.

When she looked in his eyes for the second time, Calix felt the usual emotions he felt near her—anger, pity, annoyance, disgust. But now, he felt something else—something kinder, like the start of a friendship.

They held each other's gaze for an undeterminable amount of time—it might've been seconds, Beast thought for a moment, but to Calix, it felt like days. Or perhaps it was both seconds and days—who knew in this world, in this moment?

When they both looked away there was nothing to say. Beast stood, circled, and then laid down, curling herself into a ball. Calix, an armspan away from her, leaned against the hedge, stretching his legs out into the pathway.

There was a crack of thunder, and it began to rain.

"Damn." Calix looked up; though the roses took the brunt of the rain, a few droplets splattered his nose.

Beast shivered and rolled tighter into her ball, keeping only her head out. Calix folded his legs in, wrapping his arms around them. They glared at each other.

Calix could practically hear Beast thinking, _this is _still_ all your fault._ And he couldn't help but think the same.

_Oh, come on, _the roses said. _You know better than that._

The two ignored them.

ش

_"Cally! Cally!"_

_Beast hadn't heard anyone say that in years, since before she even became Queen. She opened her eyes. _

_She was no longer in the passageway in the garden, but rather, curled up in a chair in the library. She crawled off the chair, and stood. And that was how she knew she was dreaming. But she was dreaming a memory—one that was crystal-clear as though it was happening now. _

_She smoothed her skirt and cried, "Yes, Adrena?"_

_Her little sister ran in, flinging her arms around her waist. "Oh, Cally, guess what guess what guess what?"_

_Calista smoothed a flyaway curl back from eleven-year-old Adrena's cheek. "What, Addy?"_

_"Daddy's home early and he's brought me a doll! A pretty one, with curls like gold and eyes like blue diamonds!"_

_Calista grinned. "Father's home?"_

_Adrena jumped up and down. "Yep yep yep! C'mon, Cally, he's in Mama's chambers waiting for us!" _

_Calista tucked her hair behind her ears and let Adrena take her hand, guiding her out of the library and down the lavish hallways. _

_A butler bowed as they reached the Queen's quarters. "Can I help you, your majest—" Calista cut him off._

_"Just let us in, you idiot!"_

_The butler stuttered an incoherent apology and bowed and opened the door. Adrena ran in, flinging her arms around her father. Calista stalked in after her, dropping a curtsy in front of her parents._

_"Good evening, Mother, Father," she said. Her father set Adrena into her mother's arms and gathered her up into a bear hug. _

_"Cally, Cally," he laughed in his deep voice, "Why be so serious? You are thirteen—you have plenty of time to be old and dreary when you _are_ old and dreary. But now you are young! Take advantage of it, my love!"_

_She couldn't help but laugh—her father was always funny. But she sobered. "Father, I _am_ thirteen. I'm of marriageable age. You've had offers, remember?"_

_"Pish-posh!" her father roared, picking her up and swinging her around, making her shriek. "You're still a child, and I'll not have it any other way! Three more years, my dear, and then we'll see about marrying you off. Please," he said, looking in her eyes as he set her down, "do not think of marriage quite yet. I'm the only man in your life, remember?" _

_She laughed; her father had always made her feel happy and carefree when he returned on his long journeys. "Did you bring me anything, Papa?" she asked hopefully._

_"Tsk, tsk," her mother said, more joking than not. "Such a spoiled child!" _

_Her father rolled his eyes. "Of course, dear," he said to his wife, winking at Calista. He pulled a chest out of his trunk, and sat down on the bed, patting the spot next to him. Calista sat there, leaning on his shoulder and crossing her legs._

_Her mother and sister left, Adrena chattering the whole way out._

_"Now, this," the King said, "This is a very special box." He set it in her lap._

_"It's beautiful," Calista breathed. It was rosewood, inlaid with silver, black opals, and carved, so that each side resembled a night sky, with black opal background, rosewood moon, and tiny silver pinpoints that shone in the light._

_"But not only is it beautiful," her father intoned, "It is also functional. Open it." She did so, revealing a shallow drawer. In it was a knife, its rosewood handle inlaid with opals and silver. Its sheath was carved rosewood. "This is fitting weaponry for a princess; for you must always be on your guard for assassins. That little belt-knife of yours is not deserving of the dirtiest street-rat in the city. But this is to be your new dagger."_

_Calista was speechless. The knife was beautiful, and precious. "Papa," she whispered, "It's—" he held up a hand._

_"There's more, Cally. Lift up the drawer." She did, setting it next to her on the bed. In the lower compartment were several vials, a silver hairbrush, and three books. "The vials are two poisons—fast- and slow-acting, two antidotes—one to take before eating, and one to take directly after, or to put in your drink to cancel the effects, two sleeping draughts—fast- and slow-acting once more, and two vials of awakening elixir. There's also a truth serum and a healing potion—two vials of that each. The instructions on using and making them are in a secret panel underneath them." He carefully lifted the vials out and silently showed her how to open it. She copied him, glanced through the small sheaf of papers, and set them back in without speaking, hiding them again. Her father continued. "The three books are the final step in your training. The first is Court etiquette—though you're good at it already—how to speak and write in secret code, how to transfer messages—both innocent and not—using a fan or flowers or a lamp. The second is just some defense methods in case of an assassin, and the third is surviving out of the palace—whether in a prison setting, a forest, or a village."_

_"Why, Papa? Why are you giving these things to me?"_

_"Simple, Cally. I want you ready."_

_Her confused emotions must've shown on her face. Her father chuckled. "I hope I won't die for a good, long, time, my love, but if I do pass away soon, _you_ must take your place as Queen, without a regent and capable of ruling without advisers. My advisers are decent, I suppose, but power-hungry. However, their families are powerful in Court and if I fired any one of them I would be assassinated before I could say, "Don't worry, I'll still pay you." Calista chuckled._

_"But the monarch has absolute power. The advisers are merely that—advisers. You don't have to take their advice, just listen to the drivel. However, Cally, if I die soon and you're not ready, you'll have hell to pay. They'll rule instead, taking money like thieves and marrying you off or making you simply a Crown Princess rather than Queen. And Court, my dear, is a dangerous place. You must protect yourself from assassins, power-hungry men, and the general rule-breaker. You cannot choose your allies until they prove themselves worthy and earn your complete trust. And do not tell any one person _everything_. Whatever intelligence network you have will be governed only by you. You will be the only one to know everything." Calista nodded. She knew most of this already, but could it was leading to something new. As her father spoke, she gently placed everything back in the box and closed it._

_"Tomorrow, in place of your normal etiquette lessons, you will meet me, and, occasionally, your mother, for your lessons in self-defense and ruling. Is that clear?"_

_She nodded; her father gave her a one-armed hug. "You are the most wonderful daughter a man could have," he said into her hair. "You take everything in stride, you're beautiful and cool-headed. You will make the finest Queen Imperial Soneh will ever have."_

_Calista blushed crimson. Her father kissed on the forehead. "And don't you prove me wrong!" _

_She felt proud, very proud when he told her that. But deep, deep in the pit of her stomach a seed of fear was planted._

_And, now, dreaming, she knew she had proved him wrong. And she could never make that better again._

ش

Beast awoke whimpering. It was still raining, and Calix was curled tightly in a ball as he watched her with eyes bright and young, like he was four years old instead of twenty-one. "Minya?" he whispered. "Minya, why are you crying?"

There was a pause, and he blinked as though he'd heard something. "Who's Minya?" Beast hissed, confused.

"What's wrong with Mother, Minya?" Calix asked. "I thought the baby wasn't supposed to be born for another month."

He sighed. "Minya, I'm thirteen. What's wrong with Mother, and why is the baby early?"

There was another pause. "What the hell do you mean, they don't know? They're healers. They know bloody everything!"

He blinked furiously. "Frera? Don't worry, Frera, everything will be just fine—dammit, Minya, don't let her see you're crying!" The last bit was in a hushed whisper.

It finally occurred to her that Calix was sleeping. His eyes opened wide, in horror and sorrow, then, and his voice—well, she couldn't hear his voice anymore; she had pushed it into her subconscious.

Beast had never felt pity before, but now she did. He had horrible memories, too, she realized; just because he hadn't been locked up in a castle for a hundred thirteen years didn't mean he'd had an easy life. And she felt sorry for him—sorry that he had to talk in his sleep, crying like a little boy.

Somewhere she could hear the bells of the village—Vanderwood—chime. She counted them—twelve. They tolled a final phrase, a signal for "All quiet," and then there was silence.

Beast looked at the place where the opening to the passageway had been. It was still nonexistent.

There was a crack of thunder and Calix awoke, meeting her eyes almost instantly. "You heard, I assume?" he asked coldly.

"Assume away," Beast said, equally coldly. They turned away from each other, angry thoughts stretching across the quiet.

ش

He dreamt.

He was tired of dreaming, tired of waking with dried tears on his face. He was tired of moaning into a pillow, or of watching her fall off a cliff or be stabbed or die in some other gory way alone, while he had to watch and couldn't change it. He loved her so much it made him ache.

But he was tired of it. He tried not to sleep, he tried brewing a dreamless sleep potion (that had been a failure; he had been wide awake and bouncing off the walls for a week), he tried to write his dreams down, hoping having them out once and for all would end his nightmares.

But nothing worked. And so he awoke every morning with the light, tangled in his sheets like he had for a hundred years.

Freira knew all this (except for the dreaming about her part). She knew what the whimpers at night were, why the muffled moans always touched her heart, and she wouldn't stand for it any more. She padded softly down to Johan's room, and pushed the door open just enough for her to slip in.

She watched the covers twist and roll. It was almost humorous—the way his body made the covers bulge and put a dent in the pillow, yet she couldn't see him. He whimpered, quietly, and she slid off her slippers and crawled into bed with him, draping an arm over his chest.

Softly, she sang a lullaby her mother had sung to her. She could remember crawling into her bed when she was seven, looking at her pale, exhausted mother with tears and sweat running down her cheeks, and asking if she could sing for her.

"Oh, Frera," her mother had whispered, her curls wet and dark against her white cheeks, "I don't think I have the voice."

"I have the voice, Mama," seven-year-old Freira said. And now she sang, like she had nine years ago at her mother's death.

_"I will love you  
_'_Till the day I die,  
__I will love you,  
__And I'll tell you why:  
_'_Cause your heart is pure  
__And your dreams are mine,  
__And I love you._

_I will love you  
__With a love that's true  
__And the only thing  
__That I ask of you  
__Is for you to care,  
__Care for me alone,  
__And I love you."_

In moments, his breathing slowed, and he had turned towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his nose in her hair.

"Oh, Johan," she whispered, "Don't die on me. Don't you ever die on me."

"Would'n dream a'it," he mumbled back, only half-awake. She smiled and pressed herself up against him, breathing in his soft scent and letting herself drift off to sleep, warm in his embrace.

Miles away, Beast awoke again with a start, only to find the roses laughing at her.

* * *

Post-A/N: The song the Freira sings to Johan is a song my mother used to sing to me. I don't know who originally sang it (knowing my mother, an oldies, probably Beatles--type,group), if that's all of the words (I doubt it),or the title (though I'm guessing it's 'I Love You'); however, I don't own it.

And now, I have one word for all of you:

**Review!**

_Signing off,  
nebulia_


	10. Curiosity

A/N: New chapter! And a very short one, but expect the next chapter to be out quite soon. I felt that this, however, was the most effective way to end this. I want the confrontation and its results to be a chapter in itself, though we will take a break from Calix and Beast for a while and go to Johan, Freira, Johnal, and the outside world. 'Cause things are happenin' now…. :maniacal laughter:

Sorry, kinda hyperactive right now.

And, Druantia, I'm afraid I can't answer your question—it's a plot point. And yes, the Johan in the story is the same Johan throughout. Ooh, love triangle!

MoonlightEnchantments: Calix is around twenty-one right now. He'll be twenty-two in about a month, though.

Thank you all for your lovely, lovely reviews…I was really happy when I got home from my vacation at Amherst, Massachusetts to find so many great comments.

I only own the plot, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera…

And this chapter is dedicated to Sakura Evil Twin of Sango, my fiftieth reviewer!

**

* * *

**

Curiosity

_I wasn't _

_Prepared for this_

_Ahh..._

_--Eisley, "I Wasn't Prepared"_

Beast awoke in her own bed, disoriented.

Hadn't she been in the rose passage just that night?

_Don't ask, _Regali said. _The roses decided to confuse you. _

Beast moaned at the cat and burrowed her head and shoulders under a black pillow. "They have a sense of humor?"

_Pardon my bitterness, but isn't _this _part of their sense of humor?_

"I thought you were the sorceress."

_That's for me to know and you to find out._

"So you're not."

_Don't assume things, Calista._

"_Don't call me that!" _Beast hissed, jumping off the bed and snarling at Regali.

Regali held her ground. _I'll call you what I want. And there's nothing you can do about it._ She stood, stretched, and vanished.

Beast circled herself, pacing angrily. "I hate you," she said softly to the empty air.

Regali's voice echoed back to her. _No, you don't._

ش

Calix awoke long before Beast had—it was still dark out—and had found himself in the same predicament. After Regali informed him that the _roses_ had moved him, and he had mused over this fact during a breakfast of chocolate cake, Calix decided it was time to see something.

He was tired of being curious, tired of just reading and sitting around, wondering why Beast was Beast and what Regali was. He stepped out into the entrance hall.

He took slow, deliberate steps to the Throne Room door. He reached out and placed his hands on the white-gold handles.

No one stopped him.

He pulled open the door, and then quickly stepped in, shutting the doors behind him.

ش

Beast walked down the steps of the entrance hall, looking sadly at the banister. She missed Adrena, oh, how she missed her and her antics. She missed Adrena pushing her down the banister, and then sliding down herself, she missed Adrena's smiles and her silly anger and even her tears.

She would give anything to see Adrena cry again, if it meant seeing her alive.

"Isn't that love?" she yelled to the enchantress. "I loved Adrena more than anything!"

_You love her now. But she does not love you back._

"Of course not!" Beast yelled, her voice breaking. "She's _dead!_"

_Exactly. She hates you, in this afterlife. Your entire family hates you now; you killed them._

"No!" Beast yelled. "No, I didn't!"

_You killed them._

The voice echoed around her, and Beast tumbled down the steps, whimpering.

ش

Calix did not hear. The throne room was virtually soundproof, and he was fascinated.

It was the most beautiful room in the castle. Pure white marble, red carpet that felt like velvet on his bare feet, a huge stained glass window behind the throne. Portraits lined the walls.

He walked down the center, an aisle way as wide as he was tall, lined with ripped and torn red velvet cushions. Behind it were white pillars. His eyes followed one up. The ceiling had to five times taller than he.

He walked through the pillars and looked at some of the portraits. There was a beautiful, elegant woman about thirty years old in front of him. Her amber eyes glittered knowingly out at him. Calix backed away, unnerved.

He walked down the hall, looking at the pictures, which he had finally deemed pictured of former Kings and Queens.

Lost in his thoughts and the paintings, he was suddenly startled by a pair of brilliant emerald eyes.

_King Jerrold, _the plaque on the frame said. _Son of Queen Martha and father of Queen Calista._

Calista. Beast.

He walked to the next picture, and there she was.

The first thing he noticed about the portrait was that a large rip went through the queen's face. It looked as though claws had ripped through the canvas.

He thought about the scabs on Beast's face and winced. It was clear that the two had a connection.

He carefully touched the rent in the canvas with gentle fingers, pushing up the loose fabric until the picture almost looked whole.

She was beautiful. Her face was pale, porcelain white. Her eyes were large and shining, her delicate mouth set. Half of her ebony hair was piled on top of her head, a few tendrils curled and hanging about her face. The rest hung down her back, as straight as could be.

The beautiful sculpture of her hair was topped by the Crown of Kings, Imperial Soneh's royal crown. Only the reigning monarch could wear it, and the Crown adjusted itself to each royal head. If a person who was not the predestined monarch tried to put on the Crown, they were killed instantly. Or so the legend went.

No one knew where the Crown had gone after the Queen vanished. Calix hadn't seen it in the castle_. Perhaps_, he mused, as he looked at the Queen, _it had been destroyed_. _Perhaps we will all die and Imperial Soneh will fall into legend and history._

He shook his head. When had he become so bleak?

He looked back at the Queen. She was so fragile, delicate. If he had seen her when she was human, if he had touched her, would she break?

_I am stunned. I have, of course, heard rumors from the servants; allegedly a butler overheard the Queen and the advisors making a deal--they wouldn't let her rule unless she had sexual intercourse with them. _

He smiled bitterly as he remembered. Apparently not.

He turned away from the delicate Queen and looked at the rest of the room. Walking back into the center, he walked towards the throne, which was as ripped and torn and destroyed as the rest of the room. But he was stopped by the rose floating in his path.

It was like the dark roses outside—so deep a purple-red it was almost black.

_Like a bruise_, he thought. It was odd he'd never thought of it that way, but that was the color. Or like blood dried on a dirty rag. Only the rose glittered iridescently, even inside.

And surrounded by the rose were petals. There were at least a hundred of them. And, as he watched, another dropped.

He knelt and picked one up. It was as soft as velvet, smooth and perfect, even though it ought to be wilted.

He stood back up, and reached out to touch the rose.

"What the hell are you doing in here?"

He whirled; Beast stood at the door angrily.

"I was curious."

And this was where they stood: on the brink of something huge, yet neither was quite sure what.

* * *

Review! 


	11. Revolution

**A/N: **And so we leave Calix and Beast at the little cliffie and move on to Freira, Johan, and the quaint little town of Vanderwood.

This is almost like Part II of the story. There's a well-defined split between what's been happening for ten chapters and the rest of the story, which seems to be becoming much more well-formed, and less Beauty and the Beast-ish every moment.

However, though I will deviate from that plot a teensy bit, underneath will still be the story we all know and love.

And, to boost your memory, Soshon is one of Freira's former suitors who was literally thrown out of the house by Calix when he walked in on Soshon trying to kiss Freira and her refusing. So he's pissed.

Also, keep a sharp eye out for a character that's been mentioned before…in… :checks story: chapter six.

**Revolution**

_If you were waiting for the opportune moment…that was it._

_--Jack Sparrow from "Pirates of the Caribbean"_

Soshon's impatience was well-known.

He had been pampered—at least, as pampered as one could be in Vanderwood—since he was a child. To top it off, he as handsome, athletic, and, to a degree, smart.

He was not, Freira noted, artistic. Nor was he modest, humble, kind, good at reading and history, or caring. He was spoiled even more than she had been, being the youngest in a mourning family and the daughter of a wealthy city merchant.

So he was used to getting his way. Which was why he was so stunned that she had refused him for—_Would you believe it_, the gossips whispered—the invisible keeper of the cottage she and her father lived in.

Of course, it was all rumors. Most people knew it wasn't true.

But, Freira thought amusedly, as she walked through the marketplace, it _was_ true, and that was what made it funny.

She was used to the fact that the crowds parted for her now; it bothered her little. She had Johan, after all, and her father, and she had accepted the fact that Calix was now gone.

Though sometimes she felt a presence watching her. Not Calix, but someone she had met, someone familiar.

She could not focus on who it was any more than she could listen to Soshon yammer on about nothing. It disturbed her while it happened, but the matter was so trivial that she nearly forgot it when she was busy.

It came to her now, though, as she felt tomatoes for supper. Her father had sent for a recipe from the city, and he was excited to make it.

Her father was happy, she thought with a smile. He had never been so happy when they were in the city, but now, living in this quaint little home, selling cakes and cooking for the squire, he was happy.

Of course, he wasn't just cooking for the squire, but he was also cooking for the squire's family.

Which led her straight back to Soshon.

She had been thinking about him only because he was at the booth next to her, talking with the goldsmith.

"And you know what's happening in the city, don't you?" he questioned.

Had Freira's ears been able to move, they would've perked up. She began to quietly listen in as she absent-mindedly paid Master Farmer for the tomatoes and went to go sit by the fountain.

Soshon continued. He was talking loud enough for her to hear every word, and so she listened under the pretense of sliding to the ground and leaning against the stone bench, closing her eyes, as though she were asleep. "They've begun to fight. We don't have a government—hell, we haven't had one for years. My great-grandfather, Sebastien, barely remembered a government—he was twelve when there was that revolution or whatever."

_The Queen vanished_, Freira thought, silently in correction to Soshon's assumption. _Just disappeared. No one knows where she went._

Soshon shrugged and went on. "Anyway, people in the city are angry. There's fighting in the streets and plans for a democracy or a theocracy, or, if required, a dictatorship." He smiled rather cruelly. "Most likely it'll be a group of people ruling everyone else, killing anyone who gets in their way. But anyone who aids the revolutionaries will be granted a place of honor in the new government. And you know what they want us from Vanderwood to do?"

She couldn't hear the goldsmith's response. But Soshon laughed and said, "Why find the castle and destroy it, of course! Because if the Crown hasn't already been destroyed, than it is in the castle, and destroying the castle will end the Crown's reign on us, and Imperial Soneh will be ours."

Gods, he was charismatic. It wasn't so much his words, but his voice, face, and actions. Part of Freira wanted to agree with him for a moment, until she realized what he was saying.

Imperial Soneh was perfectly fine without a government. They had gone a century without a war, without an assassination, without any revolution attempts. The country was fine.

And the Crown? Well, it could be anywhere! It could be at the bottom of the ocean, it could be buried in the baker's backyard, it could be part of some fancy sculpture in the city.

Freira tilted her head back all the way and sighed as she let the sun warm her face.

Suddenly she sat up, realizing something.

Of course the Crown was still around! How else had they lived in perfect peace for a hundred years? After all, they'd had no government, none whatsoever, yet there hadn't been a war, there hadn't been a mutiny, there hadn't been a revolution. No monarch, and perfect—well, calm in Imperial Soneh. Why?

It _had_ to be the Crown. She thought about what her tutor had taught her as a child about the Crown.

_The Crown maintains peace in Imperial Soneh if the official ruler cannot be found. The Crown knows who this ruler is, and only the rightful King or Queen may wear the Crown. Everyone else will simply die if they try to set it on their head. However, the Crown proves itself by turning from a simple white gold band with a diamond in the center to a magnificent crown of white gold encrusted with jewels and inlaid with both gold and silver when it touches the rightful ruler's hand. The Crown cannot be destroyed._

And that was all she knew. But it proved Soshon's goal would not work.

She opened her eyes. He was still talking to the goldsmith. "It's not hard. The evil of the Rose Forest is all legends, anyway." Freira snorted. "All we have to do is destroy the castle. Then we'll destroy the Crown."

It was time. She stood, picked up her basket and stalked over to Soshon. "You idiot!" she said, walking over to the booth. " The Crown cannot be destroyed—anyone with a proper education knows that! I learned it when I was eight!"

"Well, _excu-use_ me, princess," Soshon teased, glaring at her, "but not all of us were raised in the city."

"So?" Freira countered. "The only reason you never learnt it was because your father paid the teacher so you could pass your exams."

"My father did no such thing!" Soshon roared. He pinned her to the goldsmith's booth. She felt as though she would be bent in two at any moment. "How did you find that out?" he hissed under his breath.

Suddenly the pressure of his body was off her as several men drug Soshon away. The goldsmith apologized profusely. She forgave him with haughty grace—she _was_ from the city after all—and left the market.

As always, she felt every eye on her.



"I'm home!" Freira yelled as she walked in the cottage.

Johan's heart soared as she ran up the stairs, pausing only to set her basket on the table. She rushed into the weaving room and hurried over to the loom, where Johan was working.

She attempted to place a hand on his shoulder, and succeeded. She'd gotten quite good at knowing where he was by hearing the sound of his voice or watching him at the loom.

"What are you making?" she asked, kissing him on the cheek but missing and instead getting the side of his nose.

He paused to chuckle and switch colors before answering, his fingers deftly moving even as he looked at her. "It's a picture of Calix."

There was a pause. She frowned, gray eyes narrowing. "Why?"

It was possibly the most complex tapestry he'd ever made; it was like a painting. All Freira could see right now was the legs of a table and what was obviously the Healer's room.

Johan said, his voice deceivingly calm, "I was afraid we'd—your father included—forget him, so I'm making a tapestry that looks like him."

Her heart melted, and all of a sudden all she wanted to do was throw him to the ground and kiss him senseless.

Of course, the thought was dismissed instantly as she explained it away with the teenage hormone excuse.

Which led her to another question. "Johan," she said carefully, "How old are you?"

He stopped weaving. She felt his eyes on her. She looked up and, for the first time ever, felt as though she was actually looking into his eyes. He was still invisible, but it felt like he wasn't.

They stared at each other for a long moment, and then Johan said, "Officially, I'm a hundred twenty-four years old. That's how long I've been alive. But I haven't really aged any. You could say I was cursed when I was twenty-five. I might be a hundred years older than that, but in my mind and my body, I'm still just a young person."

And another question. "What do you look like?"

He saw a young man, with light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and blue eyes. Tall, lanky, pale. When he looked in the mirror he could see himself, just himself, no shadow. It made him look—odd. It was interesting how shadows changed things, but he had none, and so he looked—false. Artificial.

"Johan?"

He looked back down at Freira. "I don't remember."



_He was weaving one day when she came in. "It's late, Johan. Would you like dinner?"_

_He turned in surprise. "What?"_

_She was standing._

_His jaw dropped. _

_Her hair was shaggy and shoulder-length, her face covered in fine fur. Her nose was long, her ears pointed and on top of her head. Her feet were still wolfish, her teeth still sharp, her fingers still short and clawed, but she looked almost humanoid. She was smiling. _

_She was in a fresh dress, loose but clean. Her face was hopeful with human expression. _

_He stood and grinned at her. "All right."_

ooo

_At dinner, he asked her why it changed. _

_"What changed?"_

_"The curse."_

_Instantly she was on the defensive, growling as though she was still wolf. "Who told you about the curse?"_

_He laughed. "It's obvious. Of course this place is enchanted. What is the curse, anyway?"_

_She was quiet, not angry, but thoughtful. "Love and earn love in return," she said softly, more to herself than to him. _

_"What?"_

_She looked up at him. "I have to love and earn love in return."_

_"Why?" He looked embarrassed for a moment, and then said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't intrude on your privacy, and your past. I'm simply curious."_

_"No," she softly, still too thoughtful to get angry. "It's all right. I don't mind so much."_

_"No. I still shouldn't intrude, Majesty." _

_"Beast," she said shortly. "It's Beast."_

_"I don' think so," he said. "You're not so bad. You're not a beast."_

_"Really?" she said hopefully._

_He smiled at her. "Yes."_

_She was quiet for a moment as they ate. Then she blurted, "I love you."_



Johan woke up sweating, face buried in his pillow. He could taste tears in his mouth.

He'd never loved her, not like that. He'd spent a year at the palace, a year where he had been first a prisoner, and then a resident. The palace-the place he'd been born in and then forced to leave—had finally become his home.

And then he had left.

He rolled over and sighed as he felt cool air on his face. His hair stuck to his face and the back of his neck. He felt dirty and small and ten years old again, holding a stuffed bear to his chest and a knapsack on his back, walking away from the palace with his family.

"Johan?" Freira asked. She stood in the doorway, already dressed even though the sun was just rising. "Are you all right?"

His mouth was dry and he swallowed, trying to speak. Freira walked in and sat on the bed, smoothing his invisible hair back from his face. "It was a nightmare, right?"

He swallowed again and nodded. Then, realizing she couldn't see him, he said, "Yes."

Another lie. How many had he told her by now? How many could he tell her? Would she ever learn they weren't true?

Freira helped him sit up with a motherly air that made him feel like a little boy again. Then she gathered him in a hug and he was twenty-five again, hold the girl he loved with all his might, burying his tearstained, sweat soaked face in her sweet-smelling neck.

He didn't deserve her. And he hated himself for it.


	12. Leaving

A/N: Another short chapter…Beast's point of view. Warning—there is a touch of heavy language in here, but you'll figure that one out by the second paragraph.

Anyway, despite its shortness, a major plot point is almost revealed in this chapter…and other fun stuff happens. You get a good look inside Beast's head.

Anywho, I'll update soon.

**Leaving**

_Somewhere a Queen is weeping_

_Somewhere a King has no wife_

_--Jamie Cullum, "Wind Cries Mary"_

She was dreaming.

She was dreaming a lot, now. She dreamt of Johan and Adrena and Mother and Father and the young advisor, who slept—no,_ fucked_ her like she was a rag doll. When she was sleeping she was human in between dreams and sitting on her throne and crying, crying, crying always.

And then she would look up after it and Calix's body would be sprawled in front of the throne, his eyes open and glassy, unblinking.

She couldn't take it anymore. Not anymore.

_Yes, you can_, the roses said, snickering in their dry voice. _You'll take it forever. You'll live forever, doomed for an eternity to slowly slide into senility alone and alone and afraid. You will never love again. You'll simply be a—_

"No!" she yelled and looked up from where she lay sprawled across the carpet at the foot of the marble stairs.

Her vision was fuzzy, but she could tell she was alone; her only companion her labored breathing.

It was too much. She felt blackness on the edge of her eyes, and closed them for a moment of peace. _Just a moment…_her mind said, but her body thought otherwise. She welcomed the sleep anyway, letting her human, dreaming self's tears toll down her pale porcelain cheeks.

Calix's body mocked her. She buried her face in her hands and her human in-between self fell asleep.

_Just sleep, _she prayed. _Just sleep, perfect, pure nothingness._

The roses just laughed. Even Regali snickered at that. She fought down her own hysteria.

What was she coming to?

Nothingness…_please oh please let it come…just nothingness please please…_

_Never._

ooo

_"I love you."_

_Once the words left her mouth she regretted it. Johan's face looked like…well, it looked like it he had been stabbed._

_She had seen people stabbed. When she was seventeen she stabbed one of the advisors and had the rest executed—of course they were all stabbed as well; it was the most common type of execution in Imperial Soneh. She remembered when she stabbed him that his face had gone white and his mouth opened but no sound—save maybe the slightest hint of a breath (or was it a sigh?)—left it. Then he began to sweat and his body felt hot and cold all at once, and shuddered, and then it went still. _

_That was how it always was. _

_Johan looked no different. Color left his face and then he opened his mouth—probably to gasp; that was what it looked like—but no sound escaped. _

_She blushed and looked down. "I—I—"_

_He stood up. The plates in front of him vanished. "Don't. Please." He slowly turned and began to walk out the door, still as pale as snow._

_He left and she saw him turn towards the velvet curtain that hid the servant's hall from the entrance hall._

_"No!" The word ripped from her mouth desperately. She rushed out and followed him. "Johan—please—don't leave!"_

_He stopped. His eyes were intense—she couldn't tell if they were angry or not; they simply were as hard and emotion-filled as she'd ever seen them. "I have to, Majesty," he said softly. "Because I don't love you back."_

_She whimpered desperately, feeling her eyes fill with tears that would never slide down her cheeks—her tear ducts were all strange in this half-wolf form. _

_Johan continued. "Look, Majesty," he said, and she whimpered again at the term of misplaced respect, "It would be uncomfortable for both of us. I wouldn't be able to look you in the eyes. You wouldn't be able to watch me weave. It wouldn't work out, and you know it."_

_He had been walking as he said this, and was now out in the garden. She sat down on the ground, stunned. "Johan—Johan—"she couldn't get any more out. _

_"Goodbye, Majesty."_

_How could he be so cruel? _

_"Don't you like me at least?" she asked desperately into her hands. _

_He didn't hear her. He was walking—quickly and stiffly—away from her through the garden. She got up and ran after him and was suddenly in a maze of roses and he was gone. _

_She let out a sob and burst into a full-fledged run. "Johan! You can't leave!"_

_Even though she couldn't see him, she heard his voice. "Yes, I can."_

_"_NO!"_ She didn't have to see him to know _something_ would happen to him if he tried to leave. She didn't know what._

_Suddenly he came into view and she grabbed his sleeve. "Johan! If you leave something will happen. Something bad—I don't know what, but I can feel it."_

_Johan opened his mouth, about to speak but the voice spoke first._

Very nice, Majesty. Very nice.

_That was how Beast first heard the dry, sexless voice of the roses. _

ooo

She fell out of the dream—and sleep—gracelessly, landing hard in her body at the foot of the stairs in the entrance hall. Her eyes opened—her head ached, but her vision was back to normal and there was—_something_ in the air.

She sensed it like she'd sensed the roses with Johan, but it clicked when she heard Regali say, _Something's wrong._

She felt old and creaky as she pushed herself to her feet. Lifting her nose up, she sniffed the air delicately.

Under the smell of dirt and old—which was odd because the room was clean—she could smell Calix—or, at least a smell that wasn't her or Regali or Johan or a hundred years old. Had to be Calix.

It was faint, as though it had been there a long time, but she had never really relied on her sense of smell. The must always made sure of that. She didn't mind—her sense of smell was only human with a slight advantage.

But she followed the strongest scent of Calix right to the door of the throne room. Her nose hit a handle suddenly, and she looked up in horror.

Regali smirked. _See?_

Anger coursed through her veins. She ground her teeth in anger, baring fangs. Had she been human, she would've clenched her fists—the claws in each paw dug into the carpet as it was.

_The bastard_, she thought without wanting to. _The stupid gods-damned son of a bitch…_

She grabbed the handle with her teeth and wrnched open the door. He stood there, abouit to touch the rose. _Her_ rose.

_No…_

"What the hell are you doing in here?"

He whirled; she saw a momentary look of terror on his face but it vanished, only to be replaced by hard, set anger. "I was curious," he said calmly.

Gray eyes met green and they locked. She felt as though she was about to fall off a cliff and into the fire, no matter which way she went.

And she would go willingly.


	13. Interlude: Flickers

A/N: Filler chapter, though more of an interlude. Moments. Explained at the end. Definitely a little bit of info revealed about Beast. Veeery, very violent. Blood, guts, and gore. Icky stuff. All right, read the AN at the end for more info and a couple of questions…anyway, the interlude.

**Interlude: Flickers**

It hadn't taken him long to travel to the city. He kneeled in front of his master, bowing his head.

"I have gathered them, my lord."

He heard a smile as 'his lord' spoke. "The entire town?"

"Well, some are not convinced, but they are neutral. None are against the thought…save for two or three. But they are minor, and easily disposed of. My father's cook, his daughter, and their servant."

"Very good, Weaver. You have done well."

Weaver nodded. "Thank you, my lord."

The man folded his hands together. He was thin and plain, with fair, graying hair pulled back from his face and nondescript blue eyes. His nose had been broken at least twice, and his cheekbones were sharp and jutted out from his face. He looked mildly ratty, Weaver thought. But he was clever and good at his job—be what it may.

He didn't even know his name. He was simply 'my lord.'

"Now," the man said, "You need to convince them. With your charisma, I have no doubt you can do it. After all, they are looking for a democracy." The man laughed, twiddling his fingers. A projection of the Crown floated in front of Weaver.

"My lord?" he asked, confused. "I thought we would—"

"Give them a democracy?" The man laughed again. "I am sorry for deceiving you, Weaver. But now that I have gained your trust…" he snapped his fingers. The Crown vanished, and he leaned in. Weaver lifted his head, meeting blue eyes that were suddenly intense.

He spoke softly. "The Crown cannot be destroyed, Weaver. Only the monarch knows the key to its destruction, and even then it is nigh impossible for them to do it alone. Only under extreme circumstances that will in every probability never happen can the Crown be destroyed. It truly can only destroy itself.

"The Crown never chooses wrongly, Weaver. And I have no doubt that it will choose me as King. And if you gather the village of Vanderwood, and fetch me the Crown, and destroy the palace, you will get the highest position in the government."

Weaver's eyes widened at the thought of the power. "I will, my lord. I will do whatever you ask."

"Good." He gestured for Weaver to rise. "Go. Do what I ask. There is a fresh horse waiting for you."

Weaver bowed and began to walk out.

He was about to open the door of the office when the voice stopped him. "Oh, and Weaver?"

He turned. "Yes, my lord?"

"Kill anyone who gets in your way. If you like the girl who opposes you…" he grinned wickedly and shrugged. "I do not mind."

Weaver smiled as he left the building. This was the best thing he would ever do.

ooo

_The nine-year-old watched the Queen from behind a pillar. She cradled her head in her hands, her black hair falling in a curtain around her face. Suddenly she looked up, and, as usual, the green eyes set in her porcelain face startled him a little. _

_"Maxmilien," she called. Her herald and scribe ran down the aisle from the door, bowing when he reached her. _

_"Yes, Majesty?"_

_Her voice was soft, and the little boy had to strain to hear her. "What would I have to give you to lie for me to kill my advisors?"_

_"If you order me," Maxmilien said, "I will do anything for you, Majesty."  
She laughed softly, though it sounded more like a sob. "I wouldn't do that, Maxmilien. What would you ask for? Money? Retirement? Sex?"_

_"Majesty, I have a wife that I love very much, and a job I adore."_

_"You don't want sex?" she sounded confused. "I thought all men were sex fiends."_

_He laughed. "No, Majesty. Not at all. You will find, I think, that that quality is really only reserved for nobles who married by arrangement."_

_"Fine, then." Now she was decisive, almost cruel. "A raise. Five gold pieces a month instead of three."_

_Maxmilien's voice was stunned. "Majesty…"_

_"You won't refuse. Please don't refuse. If you only do as I ask, I can do this for you. I know you have a family."_

_"Yes."_

_"Do you accept?"_

_"Yes."_

_She smiled, the first smile the boy—probably anyone in the palace—had seen on her face for—well, for years. "Fine, then. This is what I want you to do. Directly after luncheon we go to my quarters for a meeting. There, we will discover the advisors brutally beating—and raping—a girl. Then, we will discover that she's dead, but just barely. So they killed her and then kept going."_

_"Majesty…" Maxmilien spoke in horror._

_She ignored him. "Instantly the sentence is death. They will die."_

_"The body?" Maxmilien asked._

_"One of the butlers killed his wife yesterday by beating. He died this morning, and her body was frozen and will be transferred to my room during luncheon. I have paid a small number of servants to do this."_

_The boy thought of his mother, who returned to their quarters with a great deal of money to do something she 'would not relish doing.'_

_The Queen had no mercy in her eyes now. He could see that even now. What did she want? Why was she doing this?_

_The boy thought of his father, blind, poor, and happy._

_And the Queen, rich, beautiful beyond beautiful, and the most hopeless, heartbroken, sad person he'd ever met._

_And he knew, then that he could safely say he merely pitied her, nothing else._

ooo

"You were _curious_?"

"Yes, I was. I daresay you know what it means?"

ooo

_She had been meeting with her tutor, an old man who she secretly respected and adored—not that she would tell him that, though. He was at least eighty and still called her Calista even though everyone called her Majesty now. _

_She entered her parent's room for etiquette lessons and to talk with Adrena and nearly fainted._

_Blood. Blood everywhere. It assaulted her senses, the smell hot and metallic, stinging her nose, blood dripping from bed-curtains soaked with it, each drop ringing in her ears, and the sight of it—brown and scarlet and thick. She felt bile rise in her throat but hardly noticed. Her eyes were locked on the body in front of her._

_It was Mama. Her eyes were wide and staring, her mouth open in terror, her face stark white. Her dress—she remembered what it had been that day; Calista's favorite: blue-gray to bring out her eyes, with perfect, pale lace that quivered with every move she made—her dress was gone, ripped to shreds. _

_Her stomach was gone. Calista watched a string of intestine wind through the bloody room and wrap around the bed. Her mother's chest was cut open, her ribs smashed, her lungs and heart visible. Her wrists were cut, lightly enough not to kill quickly, but heavy enough to be difficult—nigh impossible, in fact—to clot. Her throat was cut in tiny little jabs—to cause pain only. Her white skin was splattered with red and brown in spots where blood had dried. _

_She was dead. Dead, dead, dead. Deceased. Passed away. Croaked. Kicked th dirt. No matter how she said it, it meant the same thing. Dead. Not alive. Never to smile again._

_She swallowed hard, feeling the bile slide down the back of her throat. Tears prickled at here eyes, but were abruptly stopped by the sound of a moan._

_She stepped around her mother's body, into the room, and found Adrena next, disemboweled in a similar manner and then strangled with her innards. Various cuts and gashes covered her body, and her legs, arms, and neck were broken. She looked as though she'd been shaken, blood spattered everywhere._

_"Adrena," she whispered, kneeling next to the girl. She was breathing, just barely. _

_"I…hate…you," she murmured brokenly, her voice barely audible and somehow still vehement. Then she was gone._

_"Cally…"_

_She turned again, this time to the bed. Her father lay there, his innards in his hands, his face bruised and battered. It would be slow and painful for him. _

_"Papa!" she cried, running to him, crawling onto the bloodstained bed. "Papa, what happened? I—" _

_He cut her off with a icy—but gentle—hand across her mouth. He removed and whispered, "Cally, I know it's almost typical that the Heirs kill the Ruler sometime, but did you have to kill your sister, too?"_

_"Papa…" she murmured, tears running down her face, "Papa, I don't know what you're talking about! I love you! I need to learn, Papa, really I do! Who did this? Why? I honestly don't know, Papa, I didn't do it!"_

_He smiled, almost cruelly. "It was assassins, Calista. And I think you know what I'm talking about."_

_He shuddered and lay still. Calista stood, feeling blood drip off her like everything else. She felt like part of the furniture. _

_"Majesty…" she looked up. An advisor stood in the doorway. He smiled wickedly. "Majesty, did you like our present?"_

_She smoothed her skirt with bloodied hands, the epitome of calm despite her tear-streaked face and darkened, sad eyes. "Get someone to clean this up, Jukio. You're not getting the throne no matter what you do."_

"_The question is, Majesty," Jukio said, eyes laughing, "What will_ you_ have to do?"_

ooo

Freira awoke with a start, breathing hard, soaked in sweat. What just happened?

**To Be Continued…**

Post-A/N: OK. Issue number one: Should I up this baby up to an R rating? There won't be anything this violent after this; though there will be some, and language and sexual themes, though no actual bedroom scenes or anything. The f-word will probably be used _maybe_ once after this, if any. This chapter and the last were definitely the most R-ish it'll get, I think. But tell me what you think.

And Issue number two: Please, please, please review. I'm dying for some feedback here; anything will do. For example, I've got this fancy little hit counter, and for Chapter 12, I got 32 hits and three reviews. Reviewing is the only payment I'll get, you know, and I really would appreciate it if you did.

Issue two-A: Updates will be coming through October, but on November first, I will cut off all writing in order to work on my NaNoWriMo novel (for more info see so, for one month, there will be no updates. As for when I will updtate between then and now…we'll just see how it goes. I have some of the Beast-Calix confrontation written out and I don't know when I'll finish it. It'll probably be up by October First. Hopefully.

Anyway, don't forget to review and tell me what you think, and here's a preview of the next chapter:

"**Chapter 13: Confrontation**

She ran outside, felt the snow in her face. Regali followed, eyes wary. _Beast…_

She didn't even notice the small voice in her head. "He can't leave." Her voice was desperate. "He just can't."

---

He fought the wolves off with difficulty; there were just too many of them.

And then she was screaming, her voice cracking, the one word she never wanted him to hear.

"_Johan!"**"**_

That's it. Later, folks!

Signing off,nebulia


	14. Confrontation

A/N: So, anyway, I've been asked if this has a Zelda reference, and Inuyasha reference, a Beauty and the Beast reference, Buffy reference, and several other crossover-y questions.

Answers to these:

1) I know nothing of Zelda. It's just a coincidence.

2) I know little of Inuyasha. While I used to tune in on Saturday nights to watch the anime and have had the misfortune (or fortune, depending on how much you like the show) to read a fanfic or two, I have next to no knowledge of it. And I've had this story planned long before I heard of Inuyasha, so once more, a coincidence.

3) Uh, duh?

4) I have seen a few Buffy episodes and have a friend obsessed with the show. I see no connection.

5) No, this is not a crossover. All these ideas may have been unintentionally influenced by other outside sources, but I didn't just sit down and throw in a Zelda reference. If I _do_ do that, however—or, more realistically, if the characters do so, as they seem to own the story rather than me—I _will _let you know. And I will give a giant cyber-cookie flavored your choice to whomever can guess where it is.

And, on a similar note, bits of this chapter were actually inspired by the musical Beauty and the Beast (gasp!). Cyber cookie of your choice if you can guess where. It should be obvious to anyone who knows the musical.

And this chapter could almost be subtitled "A Change of Heart," though not only is that as clichéd as it comes, Beast doesn't really realize it's happening.

Disclaimer: I don't own the plot—though I think it's public domain by now, so maybe I do? Anyway, this is a retelling of Beauty and the Beast. Be forewarned.

**Confrontation**

…_There she hangs her head to find herself faded_

_to a shadow of what she once was…_

_I would be the last know_

_and I would be the last to let it show…_

_--Sarah McLachlan, "Mary"_

"You were _curious?"_ Beast demanded, feeling her hackles rise.

"Yes. I daresay you know what it means?" Calix smiled a sad, twisted smile, but she could still feel anger emanating off him in waves. He stood rigidly, hands in fists, knuckles white.

"You had _no _right coming here," she hissed, approaching him. He held his ground. "This is _my_ space, not yours. You don't belong here."

"Why not, _Majesty_?" he snarled back, losing whatever control he'd had left. "Why don't I belong here?"

She was temporarily startled by his sudden, vicious anger. She had always thought his personality similar to Johan's, who never really got angry, and when he was, was still fairly calm, but he had an inner passion that surprised her—and brought out the worst in her. "You are a sorry son of a bitch," she growled in response, the volume of her voice steadily rising.

_No good can come of this…_ Regali's voice echoed in their heads, but neither listened.

She brought out the worst in him, he realized, the little bit of anger he'd always had. He shook all over, wanting nothing more than to…

What did he want?

_Yes, what _do_ you want, Calix?_

"Don't call me a son of a bitch," Calix roared back. "And you didn't answer my question!"

"You don't belong because this is my godsdamn palace, bastard!" Beast yelled. "This is _my _room, and all you've ever done is come in and ruin it!"

"Ruin it, have I? Well, since I've seen you maybe ten times in the month I've been here, I don't see how it could be ruined! And _you _were the one who ordered me here in the first place!"

_Don't ever think you can't change the past and the future. You might not, not think so now, but just you wait and see-someone will come to help you, right, Beast?_

"I ordered you here because the roses told me to, bastard!"

_Liar…_

"Liar. There has to be an ulterior motive, and I think this rose has to do with it!"

Silence, save for the sound of heavy breathing.

That cut close to the bone. Too close. Calix opened his fist, and the petal that he'd been holding when she entered fluttered to the ground, as perfect as ever despite the slow trickle of blood from where his fingernails had dug into his palms, drawing blood.

Calix felt it too, the sudden odd tension of an argument gone too wrong. Wind howled outside, a sure sign that the rain from the previous night had come back. Maybe it was even snowing—was it time for winter yet? How long had he been gone?

"Get out." Beast's voice was low and full of malice. "Get out before I kill you myself."

_You've messed it all up this time._

"It's a curse." Calix said what he had suspected all along. "And you hoped I would break it." He thought of Freira, standing in the doorway as he left, tears streaming down her face as she cradled her broken fingers in her other hand. Anger surged through him again. "Well, I'm not breaking any curse of yours!"

_You've gone too far now…_

Beast dug her claws into the plush carpet."_Get out!"_ She lunged at him and he dodged, just barely, falling to the ground, feeling his elbow scrape along the carpet.

He pulled himself to his feet, grabbing the handles of the door, pushing them open with force. He picked up the house robe he'd discarded just before entering the room, throwing it on.

He turned towards the door, and was met with a sudden blast of icy wind. The doors were always open; he assumed so because they were huge and hard to close. Until now, it hadn't mattered. He shook his head, pulling up the hood of the robe and burrowing himself tighter in it, before running out.

Beast rushed out of the throne room and watched him leave, her body still rigid long after he was out of sight.

He was gone. Gone forever. Her last hope.

The day Johan left, she had gone after him, tried to convince him. And then the roses told her, and it rained. When she tasted the water falling from the sky, she tasted salt.

It rained tears. It rained her tears.

ooo

Very nice, Majesty. Very nice.

_Johan was standing just outside the rose gateway when she's stopped him with the premonition. Or confession. Or whatever it was. She was just inside it, yet when she turned to the central grove where the roses were, it was right in front of them. _

_She knew the garden had a mind of its own, but it had never moved, not like this._

_"Who're you?" Johan demanded._

You know who we are.

_Beast watched the deep iridescent purple-black roses twist and shift. _

_Wait…there was no breeze. _

_"The…roses?" she questioned softly. _

Smart girl.

_This wasn't right. She could feel something; something was wrong. Her heart raced; she heard Johan's breathing behind her, panting a little from running so long. _

_Something was wrong. Her mind told her that over and over again, trying to place what exactly it was. She couldn't. But something would happen to Johan it—_

_She turned back to the man and barked, "Johan. Get back in, please! Something will go wrong—"_

It's too late.

_"What?"_

The curse had a little hope for you, we suppose. But every time a man leaves these grounds, he himself is cursed, and your time to fall in love is lessened. The only way his curse will be broken is if yours is. What's more, he cannot enter again.

_She looked at the archway, once the opening to the palace grounds. Johan stood right outside, his eyes wide with a childlike horror. He took a step forward, only to find himself hit what seemed to be a wall. _

_"No." Her voice was a whisper. He couldn't leave. He couldn't leave her alone with only that cat for company. Not that she'd seen the cat for ages; she had vanished months before Johan even arrived. _

There's more…_ the roses said teasingly, laughing almost._

_Johan looked down. "Majesty—"_

_And suddenly his body was fading. Johan called again, desperately. "Majesty!" _

_She shook her head, falling to her knees. "I can't, Johan. I can't—"_

Get out, Johan.

_And he left. And it rained. _

ooo

"If he leaves," she murmured, "He'll come to the same fate as Johan?"

Regali was surprised at the wolf's sudden calm, but she merely backed away and answered, _yes, he will. I'm sorry, Majesty._

"Why should you be?" she demanded viciously, turning around to face the cat. "What does he matter to me? I _hate_ him! He was _nothing_ like Johan! He was angry and cruel and uncaring and _he went into the room! _Even after I explicitly told him _not _to! He can rot in hell for all I care, invisible for all eternity!"

_Majesty—_

"Get away from me!" Beast snarled, approaching Regali.

In the many, many years she had known the former Queen, Regali had never seen her so incensed. Throughout time, Regali had had many, many death threats placed on her, most of them by Beast, but the former Queen had never shown the slightest inclination to act on them. Now, certain death was only averted by a quick, delicate leap to the banister.

"I'll kill you if you mention him again," Beast said, her voice low and threatening and dangerous. Regali showed no sign of the odd fear she was suddenly feeling. "You even recall he was here and I'll rip you into a thousand pieces."

_Yes, Majesty._ She _would _mention him again, though. When she was safe on top of the kitchen stove. _But since I can vanish and you can't, what's to stop me from running away?_ She snickered wickedly, half of her still not quite believing Beast was so angry.

"You _bitch!"_ Beast roared, throwing herself at the banister. Regali once more had to nimbly dodge the wolf, dashing up the stairs. She paused to tempt fate one more time.

_I believe the bitch is you, Majesty, if you wish to be technical._

Then she vanished.

ooo

Beast needed to kill something.

She had never been this angry before; her entire body surged with the urge to commit murder.

And yet—

She was sad.

Not that she would admit it to herself. But it was there. She felt as though her heart, which had already been ripped to pieces when Johan left, was now shattered further and then spread to the four winds.

Her last chance was gone. Totally gone. He had just walked out the door, and was now as cursed as Johan was, for all eternity.

But she didn't care. Of course she didn't care. He'd gone into her secret room and then he'd walked out and then Regali had to go on her and mock her and she couldn't stand it anymore.

And she wouldn't love him. She couldn't love him. And if she didn't love him, what was the point? Just to let him stay here? Live out his life alone and unloved?

He deserved it. He fucking deserved it! If she should suffer in such a way, so would he! And she would _never_ give him permission to leave. Let him rot away, invisible and alone.

Her mind suddenly taunted her with a picture of Johan and Freira kissing

_He_ had managed to find love invisible. But then, he was _Johan_. Johan hadn't deserved what he had gotten, but Calix didn't even deserve to _live_. Maybe she should just kill him…

Or kill _something._ Anything. Everything. If she couldn't love, hate was the next best thing.

She rushed out the kitchen doors to find the pack and hunt. Or maybe she'd just hunt by herself, she thought as she entered the stream clearing. A strong breeze blew around her, the snowflakes embedding themselves in her coat and on her nose and

_He doesn't love you._

She didn't recognize the voice. It was just _there._

"Who doesn't love me?"

_The mortal boy._

"Of course not."

_The last one didn't, either. But you loved him._

"I still do."

Laughter. _No, you don't. If you did, you would still be that half-human thing you were when he left._

"I love him," Beast hissed. "I will always love him because he—he was _Johan!_ He was whom I loved! Leave me alone!"

_No can do. _

"Don't be such a smartass!"

_Language._

"_Shut the fuck up!"_

_As you wish._

And whatever it was left, and she was alone in the clearing behind the palace.

So she howled.

She felt snow swirling around her, and howled for the mere lonesomeness of howling.

But the pack howled back, and suddenly, her fickle emotions were begging for company, so she slowly followed the sounds of the howls.

_Do you really want him to go?_

"Yes!" Gods, she knew she was in trouble when she talked back to every voice that randomly appeared in her head. Regali, the roses, this…

_He could still break the spell. The roses want it, you know. They made a bet._

She stopped. "What?"

The voice laughed. _They and Regali made a bet. Regali said he wouldn't break the spell. The rose said he would. Apparently they like him. _

Beast thought about the previous night, when they were locked in the rose chamber. "I noticed," she said, in a tone that would have been dry if the bigger part of her mind wasn't convincing the rest of her to go back for him.

The voice continued, unhindered. _Anyway, if he does break the curse, he gets a wish. If he doesn't, Regali's kittens get to leave and live normal cat lives. _

Those damned kittens. They were so annoying.

_And what about the curse? You want to break it, don't you?_

"Of course I do!"

_And you don't want him to be invisible forever, do you?_

"I don't give a damn about that!"

What was she doing?

She hated him; she didn't want to stop him. And yet, her body was walking—no, running—to the castle, and she was suddenly inside, and running through the passages, nearly bowling over Regali and her kittens as she went by.

_Majesty!_

"No," she whispered, not even realizing she was speaking. She rushed through the halls, and out the curtain, into the entrance hall. Snow had piled up around the door, and the wind howled as strongly as ever, but she rushed out into the storm again, unhindered.

She ran outside, felt the snow in her face. Regali followed, eyes wary. _Beast…_

She didn't even notice that the small voice in her head hadn't called her 'Majesty.' "He can't leave." Her voice was desperate. "He just can't."

The roses twisted into mazes and loomed like trees, and as she ran through them, she realized that they were leading her back into the forest. What was going on?

_Please,_ she thought, _please take me to him_.

It was so—so wrong, what she was doing. This man…she hated him. She wanted nothing to do with him. He wasn't Johan, and thus he wasn't worth her love.

But—but was Johan worth her love? He'd _left_. He didn't love her in return. In her mind, he had betrayed her. Led her on.

And somehow…maybe if she saved _him_, she would make Johan jealous.

_He doesn't love you. So how would saving another man—one you don't even love—make him jealous_?

She knew it was bad logic. But she couldn't think of another reason to save him…yet she so desperately wanted to.

What was wrong with her? She _hated _him, right?

ooo

A/N: Well, there was supposed to be more to this chapter, but this was exhausting to write and I really can't believe I just wrote it. Anyway, the next update is forthcoming and don't forget to review!

And, for those of you who noticed I haven't updated _evanescence_ in a while—yeah, I'm working on it. Don't worry; I didn't just randomly post a prologue and then give up.

And my NaNoWriMo novel is an extremely loose retelling of Sleeping Beauty that is dark and morbid, though, since I don't start writing until Nov. 1, I can't tell you much more. If it's not a totally load of crap I may revise it and post it on fictionpress. Doubtful, but still a possibility. Wait until December to ask about it again.


	15. Lucidity

A/N: A good point was brought up to me in a review. I talk too much. So, I apologize for my rambling, pointless notes and will try to be much more brief now.

However there is a question to answer: who is the voice in Beast's head? Well, I don't know who it is. It really doesn't matter. It's probably her conscience. It—the voice, I mean—may or may not make another appearance.

Also, this is probably my longest chapter yet…yay!

Thank you for the lovely reviews…:dumps cyber-cookies over reviewers:

Disclaimer: Yeah, retelling of Beauty and the Beast. Get used to it.

**Lucidity**

_It lay buried here_

_It lay deep inside me_

_It's so deep I don't think that I can speak about it…_

_--Kate Bush, "Love and Anger"_

Master Healinghands was well aware of where Calix was. The day he left, Freira came to him and told him of what had happened with the talking she-wolf. That day, he felt a cold ball of icy fear in his stomach. He knew the truth behind the she-wolf—he had studied legends and then, when he found out about the invisible boy, he realized what really happened to the Queen. And he knew that no good could come from this.

The fear in the town healer's stomach grew when Soshon began to talk in the tavern about finding the former monarchs castle and setting up a democracy instead. The Crown, Soshon said, must be destroyed.

And not only was Soshon popular, he was charismatic as well. He quickly gained the entire village on his side, save for a few neutrals and the only person who dared defy him—Freira.

He'd had little idea the girl had so much spunk, but she was tough and stubborn, refusing to back down. She had a resilience that he'd seen in Calix, and a passion that Calix had had as well but refused to show to the world.

And she was different as well; unsure of herself, almost overshadowed by her brother, and, probably, the older sister that they both refused to speak of. She hadn't realized it—her love for her siblings was so great, after all—but it was there, and it left Freira less talented and less beautiful that her siblings.

And she did what Calix would've done, she told him, because she would be him if he weren't here.

"Maybe," she said one day as they—and Johan and Johnal—sat around Master Healinghands' kitchen table drinking tea, "maybe he's dead. Maybe he was eaten by the wolf and her minions and his body is—"

"Freira!" Johnal cried, reaching out to touch her hand, which was shaking. "He is _not_ dead. I know it."

"How do you know?" Freira demanded.

He gripped her hand tightly, and said softly, "I feel it in my bones. If my son died, I would know it." He gave her a bitter smile. "After all, I've lost two children already. I know how it feels."

Freira bit her lip and took his other hand.

There was a moment of silence, and then Freira said, "This is great tea, Papa. Calix would be proud of you."

And there was silence.

"So," Johan said, setting down his tea, "What are we going to do about Soshon?"

"Where is he, anyway?" Johnal wondered.

"_What?"_ Freira asked.

"Haven't you noticed?" he father responded. "He left a week ago. I've been cooking much less food up at the squire's house."

"He's gone to the city," Master Healinghands said without thinking.

Freira paled, thinking of the conversation they'd had in the square the week before. "He…oh, gods." She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders beginning to shake.

And the conversation degenerated from there.

Taking a sip of his (very good) tea, Master Healinghands wondered how Calix was doing.

ooo

Calix really wasn't sure where he was going, but he had a feeling it wasn't out of the palace.

Oh, he was outside, but he felt as though the roses were leading him around the palace, to the back. Were there even grounds behind the castle? He hadn't even seen the entire inside yet.

The childish, curious explorer inside him wished he could just walk back in and finish up whatever he was doing there—exploring, reading, thinking. But that—well, that wasn't possible.

He was cold. His fingers tingled and then feeling faded away altogether, forcing him to slide his fingers into the still-warm housecoat. He pulled the hood tighter about his head, and his feet—clad only in house-shoes—were a lost cause.

The snow surrounded him, cloaking him. He braced himself against the wind, but he had to keep going. This wasn't some trip to the market; this was life or death. If he walked back in there, Beast would attack him and, in his state of near-hypothermia, he didn't stand a chance. It was so cold…

And then he realized he wasn't in the rose garden anymore, but a pleasant forest—or it would be pleasant if it wasn't for the wind and icy snow that felt like needles on his face. He could see a small brook—how could it be frozen over when it had only been this cold since yesterday? he wondered, but his mind refused to let him muse on it. His mind was telling him, _It's cold, Cal, you idiot; get the hell inside right now!_

_No. _

The rational—or irrational, but he couldn't think on it now—side of him was right. He had to get to the town.

But was this even Rose Forest? He remembered it; the entire ground was covered with roses. He knelt and with a white, frozen, scraped and bleeding—how had _that_ happened?—hand brushed away the calf-deep snow. No roses.

Where was he?

He hurried out of the large, open clearing he was in and searched for a warmer space to wait out the storm. Maybe he could survive for a while, and when the storm let up, he could hurry home.

He nodded. That was a good plan.

_Growl_.

He whirled, feeling and odd sense of déjà vu.

Said déjà vu vanished when he realized slowly, and with great horror, that he was totally surrounded by a pack of very normal-looking, very angry wolves.

Oh, shit.

ooo

Beast realized, as she ran, that she could see footprints—large, male ones—in the snow, beginning to fade as the snow got deeper.

And then, as she realized she was in the forest behind the palace grounds, she could see tiny splatterings of blood—some in the footprints, others just sprinkled across the snow.

She remembered Adrena escaping one winter's night to dance in the snow, and when she had come back in , her feet had been bleeding from the mere coldness; and her hands and face were scraped by branches but she hadn't noticed because it was so cold. Beast desperately hoped that that was the case with Calix, and he wasn't badly injured.

The snow grew heavier, there was a fierce gust of wind, and Beast shivered despite herself. She burst into a run, both to keep herself warm and to hurry to find him. He wasn't even wearing a cloak—

Dammit! Why did she care?

Because she wasn't going to have a dead man on _her_ grounds, that's why.

Yes. That was right.

_Liar_.

She shook her head.

_Beast!_

She heard Regali's voice and yelled, "I have to find him, Regali!" The words were nearly lost in the howling of the wind.

_Why do you care?_

She stopped, and turned. The wind died down for the briefest moment, and Beast said in the sudden calm, "I don't know."

Then she was nearly blown over by another gust of wind. She had to keep going—she had to keep herself warm.

_Beast! No!_

Regali felt as though her telepathic voice was as lost to the wind as Beast's vocal one. She sat down and closed her eyes, watching her plans fall apart right in front of her nose.

ooo

The wolves.

Beast remembered—it seemed so long ago—howling when Calix left. Only a few wolves had responded.

Where were they?

I _will not tell the pack. But if they find out, you are not welcome here._

Oh, gods.

The pack hated humans; Beast knew that.

And if they found Calix—

She felt fear trickle down her spine like icy cold water.

There were so many of them, and they would be warm while he was not, and—her heart stopped for the briefest moment.

The wolves had developed senses of smell. They _would_ find him, and when they did, they would kill him.

Which was why she had to get there first.

And that made it sound as though she cared. She didn't. _I hate him_, she thought. _I hate him I hate him I hate him. Don't forget it. I hate him I hate him…_ She repeated it over and over, a mantra. But she followed the tracks again, tracks that were ever harder to see because of the blowing snow.

And things changed. It was not Calix trapped among the wolves, because if it were, she would not be feeling so afraid. If it were Calix, she would feel the hatred that just _wasn't there_, leaving her almost-empty feeling; hatred had consumed her, and now it was gone, replaced by—

It was Johan; it had to be. Her frozen, panic-stricken mind came to a conclusion by how she felt rather than what was true and suddenly she was in an all-out sprint, calling upon strength she didn't know she had.

She suddenly felt as though she was snapped back into reality, and the bitter cold was upon her again and she was running, just running, and, for a moment, when she was just a wolf running through the snow, she felt a jolt of wonderful pleasure.

And then she was stopped dead by the sound of a wolfen voice in her head.

_You're almost pretty enough to be a girl—the girl who used to live there was prettier than you, though._

"I'm not a girl!" his voice was desperate, pleading, wild with fear.

_Silly pretty-man. We can't understand you. I don't know how you understand _us.

_It'd be a pity to kill him. _

_Why? What use have we got of him?_

_Oh. I suppose you're correct. _

_And he _is_ human…_

_A pretty human, though._

_Nevertheless, he _is_ human, and he's on _our _land, so…_

_Good point. _

And without warning, they attacked and she burst into the clearing he was standing in and watched him pick up a branch to fend off the wolves—gods, they looked almost rabid. He it was hard for him to fight them; there were just too many of them, and he was cold and tired, his lips blue, his skin white against red blood.

"No," she whispered softly. "No, please, no!"

And then she was screaming, her voice cracking, the one word she never wanted him to hear.

"_Johan!"_

Everything stopped.

Calix turned and her heart flew into her throat.

The alpha male stepped forward. _What do you want, tag-along?_

_Please. Stop it._

The wolf tossed his head. _Is that pretty-man this 'Johan' you speak of?_

_No. _She dropped her eyes, a sign of respect. _Johan has not been here for many years. This is someone else._

_Ah._ The alpha male watched her with suddenly knowledgeable eyes. _You loved this Johan, didn't you?_

"Johan?" Calix whispered suddenly. "As in Johan _Weaver_?"

To hell with respect. She met the wolf's gaze with a steely glare of her own. _Is that any of your business? Leave the man alone!_

He tilted his head, his gaze not leaving hers. _Your eyes are very similar to the girl who used to live here, you know. _

She broke eye contact, looking away fiercely. _I know._

_You don't want us to kill him?_

_No._

Laughter. In her head. Harsh, grating wolf-laughter that made her shudder. _Well, you're not a member of the pack, are you, tag-along? You're just a leftover pet who lives in the big closed house. You don't have a say._

They turned to attack him again and she lunged to try to stop them, only to be stopped by the alpha female, her dark eyes glinting. _Leave him, human girl. You can't do anything. _

Anger replaced the fear and she snarled, snapping her jaws moments from the other wolf. You _leave him! I am the Queen, and I have total power here!_

And she leapt over the female, snarling into the pack.

Calix had begun fighting with the branch again, but where he hit one wolf hard between the ears another was there to take its place.

Beast used every method she could to stop them, teeth and claws and human smarts until she worked her way to Calix.

"Why are you doing this?" he yelled, branch catching a wolf at the neck, practically throwing him across the clearing.

"I don't need a dead body on my hands!" she yelled back, growling as she clawed a wolf across the nose.

_I can't understand you, tag-along! _The alpha male cried gleefully. _Or, should I say human girl?_ He snarled and lifted a paw, about to claw her across the back of the neck. She whirled and slipped underneath him, biting him at the throat. He howled a little bit and backed off.

She felt—feral. Wild. Like this was what she was made for. She remembered having this feeling when she fought knives with her father; hard breathing, powerful, violent, almost gleeful. She was good at this.

_You're always good at biting off other people's heads, whether verbally or with that knife of yours_, Regali had once told her. She had been angry then, but it was only true.

Calix, however, was having a harder time of it. He wanted to finish this conversation. "You have all this forest! I'd be rotted before you knew I was even there!"

"That doesn't matter! You'd still be there, haunting me forever!" She turned to him, forgetting about the cold and the snow and the wolves. "Do you know how hard it is not to think of you? Every time I close my eyes, you're all I can see! I hate it! And I hate you! And once you're gone, away, you won't be _here_, in my head!"

Calix stopped. _"What?"_

That was the moment that she felt claws rip across her muzzle.

Scabs ripped off her face; in slow motion she watched them fly through the air. Icy cold air hit raw flesh; snow rapidly turned to water as it hit her face. Blood, hot and warm, trickled down her nose, through her fur, dripped onto the snow.

She felt teeth in her back, claws on her neck, something hot and stinging on her ear.

And everything sort of faded away. She felt a sort of lucidity, a calmness that was unbearably odd; she'd _never_ felt like this before. It was so—different; not good, not bad, just—_different­. _

She heard—faintly—a hoarse yell and the abuse slowly ceased. She realized, deep in her subconscious—or maybe now her subconscious was her conscious, because she felt so—_oh, don't confuse yourself any more than you have to, Beast!_

And then she watched little fingers of black swirl into her vision, filling it altogether.

ooo

Calix watched her fall in slow motion. She tumbled slowly, crumpling to the ground like she was a rag doll. The wolves were gone; they had vanished into the trees to nurse their wounds and probably regroup. He had to act fast.

He dropped the branch and picked up Beast, shuddering at the pool of blood she had fallen into—her wounds would be fatal if he didn't get back to someplace warm, and she needed medical attention badly.

And he didn't know where he was.

He decided that running back in the direction he came from was his best bet, because that would—if the roses let him—lead him back to the castle for certain.

Why did he care about her, anyway? His feelings of dislike had melted away aft

He pushed himself through the blowing snow, now in his face. He curled his body around Beast's, both for her protection and because her body was warm. He burrowed his hands in her bloody fur, feeling them tingle and sting as a little bit of feeling came back into them.

He ran through the forest, feeling hopeless as he recognized nothing. She was going to die, and he could do nothing…and then he would die, slowly—or, given how cold it was, quickly—freezing to death.

He put his head down and ran faster—straight into the clearing just behind the palace kitchen.

A wry smile crossed his face. "Speak of the devil," he muttered, practically sprinting to the kitchen door.

It had to be the cold, he thought. It had to be the cold that made him want to laugh, that made him want to just sit down and marvel at the position he was in.

After all, when he thought about it, it was funny. It was damned funny, how all of this had happened. And now, with Beast being in love with Johan, if he remembered correctly…he let out a low chuckle that threatened to turn into an all-out roar. Dear gods, what was wrong with him?

He hurried into the kitchen, feeling almost instantly better as warmth seeped into his bones. He rushed to his room, laying Beast gently on the bed.

He found his shoes and a pair of thick wool stockings. Putting them on, he figured they would have to do for now until he could take a hot bath and let feeling reenter his body permanently.

He lit a fire in the fireplace in his room, filling a basin and letting the water heat itself; while that was happening, he applied pressure on the most serious wound, the one he'd wanted to treat since the day he'd arrived: her face.

There was practically no skin on her muzzle; what little had been left there was ripped off by the claws of whatever wolf had gotten her. The old wounds were green and infected; they looked to be the most painful wounds he'd ever seen. They would need treatment, and cleaning…after all, it's not like he could cut off her face. It would take magic for those to clear up, though. He grabbed the basin of warm water and knuckled down to his task.

But it was pleasing work, healing; time slid by like sand through his fingers. He still shivered, but his mind was preoccupied.

When he finished, he slid her body under the covers, carefully tucking them around her. Then he stood there, feeling exhaustion seep into his bones.

He washed his hands sleepily and put on another sweater, wrapping himself in a blanket. He wobbled slightly before managing to walk to the bed.

Beast was curled up under the covers in a near-fetal position, which left him at least three-quarters of the bed. He crawled in on the other side, winding himself into his own fetal position.

_Johan!_

_I don't need a dead body on my hands!_

_Do you know how hard it is not to think of you? Every time I close my eyes, you're all I can see! I hate it!_

And all of a sudden, he was wide-awake again.

**Post-A/n:** Well, that's this chapter. Definitely the longest one yet—over 3,000 words.

Review! If you do, you get free crème-brulee and gummy-bear flavored cyber-cookies! (Really, they're better than they sound.)

Anyway, don't expect the next update for a while. I kinda wore myself out, and I have another story to update, not to mention a bunch of stuff I'm working on that hasn't been posted anywhere but may be sometime…yeah.

So, later.


	16. Uncertainty

A/N: I'm back! Check note at the bottom of the chapter.

**Uncertainty**

_Sometimes I think this cycle never ends  
We slide from top to bottom then we turn and climb again  
And it seems by the time that I have figured what it's worth  
The squeaking of our skin against the steel has gotten worse  
But if I move  
My place in line  
I'll lose  
And I have waited  
The anticipation's got me glued…  
--Death Cab for Cutie, 'Expo 86'_

Confusion. What…

Beast was… why was Beast….

Calix, still freezing, decided that the best thing for him, in his now alert state, was a hot bath. And so he took one.

It was a relief to finally feel his toes again, and afterwards he sat in the chair next to his window, watching the snow blow wildly across the palace grounds.

What had she meant? Why would she say something like that?

_Do you know how hard it is not to think of you? Every time I close my eyes, you're all I can see! I hate it! And I hate you!_

Well, the last statement was easy enough. But before…

He pitied her, sure. But he hated her as well. She _was_ a bitch. And not just literally, either. And ambitious…too ambitious. Who would give up their virtue, their soul, their ideals, just to get the power she desired?

His fingers, encased in thick, warm gloves, tightened around the armrests of the chair. Apparently she would.

He hated her. She hated him. That had already been decided. And Calix hated few people.

But…he wasn't so sure if he hated her as much as he used to. Did he even hate her at all?

The thought of _not_ hating Beast didn't feel right; it was as though she was…

He didn't know. He didn't know. She didn't scare him; in fact, he was more afraid of Freira and Regali's kittens than of the wolf-Queen, but the hatred had stemmed from someplace, and he didn't know where. He'd been treated worse by people in his life; if he hated everyone who had consistently called him a bastard, he didn't think they'd fit in the palace. Being the son of a wealthy merchant didn't inspire kindness in many people, and the way he had thrown out the squire's son after his attempt to rape his sister hadn't gained him many friends, either.

Involuntarily, an old saying _someone_ had told him popped into his head; perhaps it had been his mother, or maybe an old maid who had dispensed the advice, but he couldn't remember.

_There is a fine line between love and hate._

What?

No. Oh, _gods_, no.

He didn't love Beast. No, he hated her (for an unknown reason). That had already been decided.

And yet…he was drawn to her, in an odd way. Like…like he had been drawn to healing, or the way that one tapestry of Johan's—the one with the crying girl leaning against the palace wall—drew him.

She was—addicting, in a way. When he thought about her, he didn't want to stop.

_Not like that!_ he thought suddenly. She was a puzzle, one he wanted to figure out. Confusing. Difficult. Troubled. _Troubling_.

She had way too much emotional baggage to be healthy.

Of course, he probably was calling the bonfire hot when he said that, with his mother's death and Minya and all.

Minya…he hadn't though about her in a long time.

Guilt swept through him; his sister, his beloved older sister, and he had hardly given her thought in a month. What was wrong with him?

Minya reminded him of Beast in a way, he remembered; they were both stubborn, resilient.

He looked at the small bundle under the covers. And they both slept in fetal positions.

Granted, Beast _was_ a wolf, but he had a strange feeling that if he saw her when she was human, she would sleep in a similar manner.

_Well. What have we here?_

Shit.

Calix turned to face the amber-eyed cat—followed by four frolicking kittens—standing in the doorway.

_You're keeping watch over _her.

"Go away," he muttered. "I can't sleep and I'm exhausted and she's badly wounded. I'm a healer. I have to have a bedside manner."

Laughter echoed in his ears and Calix closed his eyes, the sudden desire to bang his head against a wall until unconscious sweeping through him.

_Something's going on…_

"Shut up."

Regali laughed again and walked away. The kittens, still wresting with each other, followed her, but one popped his head in the doorway and said, _She's very pretty, you know._

Calix looked at the kitten blankly.

The kitten giggled and said, _you'd have pretty children—_

Calix got up, crossed the room in two steps, and slammed the door shut, leaning against it heavily. "Beast needs her rest," he said to no one in particular, sliding down the door to rest his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.

Gods, he was going mad…

ooo

Beast was having the oddest dream.

_Calix was clinging to the very top of a tree, his feet entangled in tiny ranches that couldn't even hold a squirrel's weight. But he was sitting there, grinning openly, gray eyes alight with pure joy. _

_"Come on, Frera!" He yelled. "It's fun!"_

_Beast tipped her head and looked at him. He looked—different, more carefree. _

_Younger. That was it. This Calix was maybe fifteen or sixteen, his black hair shorter, cut in an organized fashion, as opposed to the shaggy hair he had now. _

_A little girl—probably eleven or so—with similar black hair and gray eyes and in a silken red dress with gold ribbons flowing from the collar, waist, and hems—grinned up from the ground. "I couldn't, Cal," she called. "I can't fly like you."_

_Calix laughed again, a delightful sound that reminded Beast vaguely of Adrena, and floated down to the ground, arms spread like owl's wings, soaring, not flapping._

_The tree was bare, she realized, and the sky was cloudy. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, and a little girl walked out of the tree, as though the thunder was summoning her. _

_Calix saw her as he fell to the ground, and dropped to her level, kneeling. Freira came to stand behind him. The girl had hair in her face, but Calix lifted a few strands away and said, "Who are you?"_

_She lifted her head, and smiled at him. Beast's heart stopped. "I'm Addy," the girl said._

_Calix smiled. "Can you fly, Addy?"_

_She shook her head. "No, but Cally can, though." _

_Freira kneeled next to her brother, not caring that the beautiful red dress was in the dust. "Cally?" she asked. _

_The little girl nodded furiously. "My sister. She got married yesterday."_

_Beast inhaled sharply, lifting a hand to look at her fingers._

_She was human, and it surprised her. And her left ring finger had a ring on it, a golden ring that had a single stone the blue of Johan's eyes in it. _

_A hand circled around her waist and soft lips found her cheek. _

_She watched as brown hair fell into her line of sight and nearly jumped. She was married to Johan?_

_She twisted slightly to look at him and smiled. It was right. It_ felt_ right. She was human, Addy was alive, and…Calix was holding tightly to the tiny girl—for though Beast was eighteen, her true age, Adrena was only six or seven—as they flew through the air._

_Hmm. How curious. But she wasn't one to dwell on it. She had her sister, and the only man she had ever loved. _

_She turned fully in his embrace and snaked arms around his neck. "Hello, handsome," she said, smiling._

_"Hello yourself, beautiful," he responded in turn, dropping a soft, lingering kiss on her lips. It felt nice, but she felt an undercurrent of…_

_Something wasn't right. She pulled away and looked at him._

_His hair had changed color. When had it changed color? It was the color of his eyes, blue blue blue, and his eyes were the soft chestnut brown and he hadn't noticed. _

_Suddenly, Adrena cried. "There she is!" and Calix, Adrena, and Freira landed softly on the cloud (cloud?) she and Johan were standing on. _

_Calix was looking at her with an odd look on his face, suddenly his normal age again, and he said, "It's not healing well."_

_Johan, meanwhile, was staring at Freira, his mouth open, his blue hair in his eyes, and she was blushing and the ring on Beast's finger disintegrated suddenly._

_Calix, meanwhile, looked nervous and a little frightened, and he said, his voice a little louder, and more panicked, "It's not healing! And her fever's going up! REGALI!"_

And then Beast woke up, gasping in pain.

ooo

Several days had passed and she still hadn't woken up. Calix was getting worried. She slept restlessly in his bed, tossing and turning and making growling noises that were far from human.

He had never really worked with sick animals before, but he knew when a dog had a fever and Beast was burning up most of the time. And though her other cuts and bruises were healing, and though he diligently tended the marks on her face, they weren't really healing.

And her fever kept rising. At first it rose in spurts: fever, and then it broke. And then another fever, and then it broke. But for the past day or so, it had risen steadily, and now Calix marveled that she was still alive.

He needed some herbs, some place to go to get them. The roses were still alive, despite the dismal weather—he could see them outside his window—and they would be the best for this—their antiseptic qualities were helpful even though Beast was already deep in throes of infection.

But he couldn't leave her; her condition was so volatile, and one moment alone and she might—

He didn't want her to die, and that thought alone terrified him.

He returned from using the restroom three days after she had begun to sleep, and found Beast thrashing violently in the bed, moaning sounds that might've been words but had degenerated into near-sobs, and her touched nearly burned his hands, she was so hot.

He undid the bandages on her face and gasped at the painful-looking, green0edged wounds. They had reopened somehow, and were now bleeding.

"It's not healing," he said softly, almost shocked.

He needed the roses. Now.

"It's not healing!" he yelled desperately. "And her fever's going up! REGALI! REGALI! I NEED YOU! _NOW!_"

Beast's eyes shot open, pupils dilated so only a ring of brilliant green shown around the black. Her eyes were glassy and fever-bright, insane with illness. She was gasping, sweating, shivering. "It hurts…" she mumbled, awake but barely.

The cat burst into the room, looking at the urgent healer with wide amber eyes. _What—_

"Roses. Now. Bring me some."

Regali nodded once and vanished, her body there one moment and gone the next. He blinked but did not dwell on it, turning back to Beast.

Calix took away the bandages and grabbed some fresh cloths, dipping them in cool water, trying to wash the blood away. Beast shuddered and thrashed, and Calix wrapped one arm around her abdomen and grabbed her muzzle with the other. He wasn't quite sure if she was delirious or not, since she hadn't really said much, but, given her high fever and the look in her eyes, he would bet anything she was.

"Beast," He said into her ear. She growled violently and tried to push herself away.

"Beast," he said again, more firmly. "I need to you stay still. _Please."_

"Like hell I will!" the wolf hissed.

"Beast," he said. "_Don't move_."

The electric quality of his voice stopped her and she froze and shuddered in his grasp.

"This is going to hurt, Beast," he said softly, and let go of her stomach so he could gently take her face in his hands and clean the blood off the wounds.

She hissed through her teeth and thrashed in pain, but stilled herself surprisingly quickly. Calix took another clean, cold, wet cloth and tied it around her forehead, in front of her ears, tucking it under her chin, in hopes that it would cool her off.

Regali reappeared, holding several of the iridescent, deep red-purple roses in her mouth. Calix grabbed two of them, and removed the petals, crushing them in a hand and mixing them in the water. With a few more, he removed the petals and crushed _them_ into a sort of paste that he left on the nightstand next to his bed. With the remaining roses, he carefully pressed petals against the wounds, hoping to draw out some of the infection.

He hoped his rosewater had had enough time to soak, and he gently washed Beast's face in it, and then used the petal-paste as soap to scrub the wounds. Beast writhed, again moaning, but Regali had leapt onto her, her body suddenly as large4 as the wolf's—_how odd—_and held her down. Rinsing her face and letting the crushed petals fall into his hand, he dampened a cloth and wrapped the petals into it, and then bandaged Beast's face with it.

When he was finished, he checked her temperature again, and it felt a little cooler. Sleep would do her good, though.

One of the first things Master Healinghands taught him was how to put a patient to sleep using pressure points. One had to be very careful, so as not to hurt him or her, but it was a handy way to get a patient unconscious for surgery or have them sleep when they were in pain or struggling.

It was also, Calix mused, good in a fight, but he didn't need to dwell on _that_.

Hoping the spots were the same on wolves as they were on humans, Calix's gentle fingers found the points and Beast's eyes fluttered shut, her shallow, heavy gasps calming to a deep, even, healthy breathing.

Depending on how her body healed, she would wake up fully in anywhere from a few hours to a few days, hopefully feeling better.

Calix, exhausted, sat on the edge of the bed, head leaning against one of the tall posts at the foot of the bed. There, he slowly fell back onto the mattress, and fell asleep.

ooo

Regali rarely slept, and dreamed even less.

Even during the day, she hardly thought of her long, illustrious past. What was the point of thinking of the past? After all, it wouldn't happen again.

She had never believed the shit about history repeating itself. Secretly, she was afraid that if she believed it, it would be true.

But no one knew that. After all, Regali didn't have feelings of uncertainty, fear, doubt. Right?

But here she was, dreaming. Or, more accurately, she _remembered_, in full color, while she slept.

_Eyes watched her from the darkness, dark, rich intense eyes that were telling her things. She could see nothing, feel nothing. She was floating in a world of empty nothingness, the only thing breaking the monotony those eyes._

Pregnant?

_She said nothing. She had the capability to speak, she knew, but she didn't want to admit it was true. She was a cat. Nothing more. She hadn't been anything else for a prolonged period of time in centuries. _

_But the eyes, and the body connected to them…_

_Once, Regali was the beautiful young Queen of Imperial Soneh, vain, but wise, just. Despite her love of great beauty, she _was_ a fine Queen, a worshipped woman. _

_But love. She wanted it, lacked it in her life. And when a man came to her one night, forbidding her to light a candle, and as they spoke, and then did more than speaking, they fell in love. The one thing Regali needed for her life to be perfect. _

_They both arose before dawn each morning, her to prepare for the day, him to leave. She never saw his face, only the hair brushing her shoulders and the shadowed, intense eyes as lay over her, whispering soft murmurings of desire in her ears. _

_But curiosity kills the cat, and eventually, she could not stand not to look upon the face of the man she loved. _

_She begged to see his face, promised him the world, had used guilt, desire, love, tears. And still he refused, saying, "I cannot show you my face, because I love you."_

_And the great lover of beauty herself had not realized the meaning of those words._

_So, one night, she waited until he was asleep, and then she lit a candle, looking upon his face._

_His hair was as black as his eyes, and his skin was pale. But his face…his face was marred by an ugly birthmark, pink in color, splotched across his eyes like a mask, and scars that ran in soft patterns down his cheeks, like tear-tracks. _

_She remembered the circus that had once come through, and the sideshows. She did not attend those sots of things, but her servants did, and servants talk._

_Though he might've once been handsome, he was ugly now, but he was still the most beautiful man in the world to her, and she gently kissed each scar._

_And he woke up._

_His anger was immense—he had asked her to so one thing for him, and she had disobeyed. She yelled back, matching each shout for shout. _

_The truth was, they had betrayed each other with their lack of trust, and the next night, when he came with a rose and a decision to leave, the rose became an enchantress, cursing her to an eternity as a cat and him to a lifetime encased in her mind, both allowed to come out for only moments. _

_The curse would break only if the Cursed Queen could break her own curse. Regali—Queen Regali—vanished, and her nephew took the throne, never knowing that his favorite cat was once his favorite aunt._

_Regali, who had been a great mage herself, had not know what that meant until much, much later, nor did she know that her role in the Curse would be much larger than simply a promise of release. _

_And one of those moments, when both were released, they got carried away. And so Regali floated in her love's spot of her mind, listening to his light laugh echo around her._

Lover…_he said and she turned away sharply. _

Stop!_ She cried, and closed her eyes. But his own eyes appeared burned onto her lids, and so she looked at him again. _Stop. I must deal with other things now, Linch.

_The lids of his dark, bodiless eyes shut, and she continued._ Leave me. Get out. Grow old. Marry a woman who can love you without the responsibilities of Queen and mage, who will care for you.

I cannot, Regali.

This is not about what you can and can't do, Linch!_ She screamed. _Go! For me! I will take the burden of your curse, no matter what it may cost me! Please. _ Her voice fell to whimper, and she turned from him, even as she knew that his eyes would follow her regardless, looking down. _The Queen has lost her love, her happiness. There are things that must be done to respond to that. And now that there will be kittens coming along…_She looked back up at him, tears glistening on her amber eyes._ Go, and know I love you.

_He nodded. _If you wish me to, Regali.

_For a fleeting moment, they were both human, and his arms were around her and his lips were on hers, soft and demanding and pleading all at once. She responded in turn, taking his scarred face in her hands and begging him to understand with her lips._

_And then he was gone, and she was once more locked in her mind._

_Months later, her kittens were born, and, not long after that, the Curse was put into place. _

_Regali, meanwhile, when lost in herself, mused on her love and where he had gone. What had happened to him, she wondered? _

_He would have married, despite the birthmark and the scars. He would have had children, and lived a long and healthy life. She knew it. He was smart, and a talented weapons artist. He would have become an archery teacher or a swordsmith, and died in his sleep at the ripe old age of a hundred and two._

_And as the years passed, she pretended. She created a wife and children for him to have and love. She celebrated birthdays of his imagined children and watched as his nonexistent wife died, pretending he had moved on without Regali. Knowing he had moved on without her. But when she finally decided it was time for _him_ to go, and pictured what his death might have been like, had she been there, his last words were, "Regali, lover…" and he reached one hand out to her like he had done when she came into her dark room after a long hard day of Court and fallen into his arms. _

_Love, damn it, love hurt worse than anything._

Regali hated dreaming.

ooo

History repeated itself, Calix thought as he tended Beast's slowly lowering fever and watched as her old, infected wounds began to fade from green to brown.

He had felt so…helpless when she was trembling in his arms, quivering from pain and shock and delirious fear, and he had felt a pang of his own fear shoot through him, remembering another stubborn, tough woman tremble in his arms as blood poured from her head.

But Minya died, and Beast had not.

That must have meant something, but Calix was still exhausted and cold, even days after his romp in the snow, and he had no desire to think about it seriously. After all, the last time he had though seriously about Beast he had had semi-romantic notions about her.

He had been delirious with cold, he decided. That was it; after all, he hadn't really _felt_ anything. He just cared for the wolf now, waiting for her to fully heal.

Beast's eyes fluttered open, and she groaned.

She was till not fully conscious, but this was more awake than she had been in…days. He had lost track of time; the date eluded him. Snow still blew outside, though it had, of late, stopped, leaving the sky blankly overcast, the air frigid and still, and snow as deep as Calix's waist on average, drifting in places.

Beast groaned again, and Calix picked up a bowl of broth he had been keeping warm near the fireplace in case the wolf awoke. Carefully, he fed her a few spoonfuls, making sure she swallowed. She managed a quarter of a bowl before fully falling back into dreamland.

That was good. She was healing.

Regali walked in. He heard her in the silent air as her feet softly padded across the carpet, and when he turned her eyes did not seem as sharp and witty as they usually were. She seemed—vulnerable. Sad, almost. Unguarded.

_Is she…_

"She's healing," he said.

_That's good, _ Regali said, almost dully.

"Yes," he said, "It is."

They spoke almost automatically, both worried but thoughtful.

There was a pause, and then Regali said, _Calix, have you ever been in love?_

It was such an out-of character question for the cat that Calix jerked his head up so suddenly it banged on the post of the bed behind him. "What?"

_I was just wondering._

"No. I had my family, and then I had my healing. I didn't really have time for love."

Regali smiled, a shadow of her old smirk. _There is always time for love._

Calix raised a black eyebrow. "When did you become so romantic?"

The cat's tail waved lazily, almost dismissively. If she had been human, Calix would've thought it would be her hand waving. _Just a mood, I suppose. _ She looked down, whatever wall she had put up in the last moments gone. _I…I was thinking about some things._

"Regali? Are you all right?"

_Just lonely. _

He sat down, leaning against the bed, next to the cat. "It happens."

_I guess. _She looked up and laughed suddenly, her amber eyes almost bitter. _Is she going to wake up soon? It's rather boring when I can't taunt her. You're a boring mark._

Calix laughed a little.

There was another slight silence, and they were just two friends sitting together, waiting for another to wait up.

Wait. When had he begun to refer to Regali as a friend?

Beast was—well, he wasn't sure _what_ Beast was to him, but Regali was most definitely a friend. And he smiled at the cat. "How are the kittens? They've left me pretty much alone."

_Well, if you missed them so much…_the cat said, and then actually meowed.

Almost instantly, four kittens burst through the door and flung themselves onto the healer.

_Calix!_

_Cal!_

_We missed you, but Mama said to leave you alone…_

_Don't babble, you idiot! Cal wanted to see you, so you should let him!_

Calix laughed and played with the kittens. Regali looked over at them with warm, motherly air. Calix had never seen her look like that.

And he had a question, suddenly. A question that burned at him, though he thought he should know the answer—no, he _did_ know the answer. And yet, he had to ask it. "Regali," he said, stilling. "Would Beast make a good mother?"

Regali's jaw dropped.

Above them, a pair of green eyes fluttered open, and a hoarse, strangled whisper escaped the mouth connected to them. "C-calix?"

ooo

A/N: I know this is a really weird place to end, and it's a strange version of a cliffie, but, well…it's really the best place.

I was pretty happy with this chapter. It was made listening primarily to the Princess Mononoke soundtrack, Death Cab For Cutie's CD Transatlanticism, and Imogen Heap's Speak For Yourself, with a touch of the Chronicles of Narnia soundtrack, which explains the tone of it.

And we find out some of Regali's past! Or that she had a lover! And that she's not the tough bitch all the way through! But trust me, she's _still_ not all that she seems.

As you see, things are kinda starting to come together. But there will still be more.

Update…hmm…hopefully within two to four weeks? It won't be any longer than a month.

And, since you asked, I AM now posting my NaNoWriMo novel, _horrors_. It's a very dark, twisted tale of Sleeping Beauty, and it's definitely rated R. But if you can stomach it, check it out. I want to know what you thing.

Shameless plug time now over, I always appreciate concrit and reviews. I'd really like a hundred by this chapter…that's just eight of you! C'mon? Please?

Thanks to all previous reviewers, especially the most recent one from Pwincess-of-Confetti, which really spurred me on and made me open the file and continue with the chapter.

Anyway, so I exeunt, because I'm probably boring you to death.

Signing off,  
nebulia


	17. Hurt

**A/N:** So, almost four months later, I update! Gah, I'm so sorry. Anyway, here is the loverly chapter sixteen. Anyway, the next chapter? Haven't a clue.

However, I do have other announcements. I have had a livejournal for several years; I haven't used it until now. It is a writing journal, mainly, with a few real life rants in it. I will be posting bits and pieces of my fics, including this, _horrors_, a Rurouni Kenshin fic I am working on, an original work, and three other fairy tale works (so, for those of you who read and liked the first two parts of _evanescence_, there may be some stuff there later on.

And I only own the loose premise of this plot. A somewhat lighthearted chapter, and a look into what a bitch Beast was a hundred years ago. ;-) So enjoy yourself.

**Hurt**

_Time doesn't heal all wounds  
Rain doesn't wash away the stain  
And God cannot always  
Always say yes to you  
Time doesn't heal all wounds  
Rain doesn't wash away the stain  
And God cannot alwaysAlways say yes to you  
It doesn't mean he doesn't care…  
--Christine Glass, "Time Doesn't Heal All Wounds"_

Johan was gone again.

Since the day they had had tea with Master Healinghands, Johan had been leaving more and more often.

Sometimes, Freira noted, he was gone before she awoke and came back after she was 'asleep,' slipping into bed with a quiet attempt at stealth that would've worked had she not been paying the utmost attention to it.

It worried her. They had been sleeping in the same bed—hers, usually, since it was larger—since she had comforted him from his nightmares. But now, he was too exhausted to even have nightmares. She would feel him tiredly drape an invisible arm across her waist and pull her snugly to him, and fall asleep, his warm breath on the back of her neck.

But he didn't dream. He didn't even move, hardly, all the night through, until he disentangled himself in the mornings and pressed a kiss on her forehead that she felt through the haze of half-slumber. Then she would roll into his warm pillow and fall asleep again, waking up just after dawn.

How early was he getting up, anyway?

When, finally, nearly a week after the tea with the Healer, she worked up the courage to ask him.

It was a rest day, and so they were at home. Johnal was downstairs cooking something that smelled delicious, and she felt cozy and warm as he weaved and she sat sewing—though, in reality, she was watching the snow blow across the garden—in the window seat in his room, bundled in a blanket and cup of green tea near her.

"Johan?" she questioned timidly.

She heard him set down the shuttle and listened as his clothing rustled when he turned to her. "Yes?"

"Where have you been going?" she asked. "During the day."

Silence. Freira wished she could see his face; it would tell her so much more about him.

The pause couldn't have been long, but, to Freira, it seemed to stretch for ages. Johan spoke. "I'll tell you, but don't tell your father. Promise?"

"Why?" Freira demanded.

"Just promise!" Johan said quickly.

She sighed, and then nodded. "I promise not to tell my father. There. Now tell me."

"The squire's wife has asked me for a weaving," he said. "It's quite large—a tapestry, really."

Freira was confused. Raising an eyebrow, she looked at him in silent question.

Johan continued, sounding like he was smiling slightly. "She has a large loom I can use, because my loom is too small for what she wants. But I've been keeping it a secret because, well…" he trailed off, and a faint feeling of…embarrassment? Deceit? Shame? She wasn't quite sure—filled the air.

"Why?" she asked.

She felt his gaze meet hers again, and he said evenly, "Since Calix left, we've had trouble keeping money—your father's income is hardly enough to support the three of us. We needed Calix's pay as Healer's Assistant to keep us going. You know that. And the squire's wife is paying me an enormous sum for doing this." Freira nodded in comprehension, but still looked slightly bemused.

Johan went on. "If I gave it to your father, or told him about it, he would refuse the money, forcing me to keep it. But I live off of your income, so I should help, right?"

Freira nodded slowly. Johan shifted a little and said, "So I will give it to your father as a gift, when I finish, in hopes that he will accept it, and my honorable intentions."

"Honorable…intentions?"

"I love you. And…if you will have me…I want you to marry me."

She flung herself across the room and into his arms. Her lips brushed his cheek and then buried themselves into his neck. "Oh, Johan!" her voice was muffled.

Johan felt damp tears on his collarbone and tilted her face up for a kiss, self-loathing rushing through his veins.

He hated himself for loving her, but, more than that, he hated himself for lying to her.

ooo

His heart stopped. For a moment, Calix was frozen. Not breathing, not thinking, not moving.

Beast's brilliant green eyes peeked out under the bandages that covered her face. They were wide and dilated from sleep, and with her whole face bandaged she almost looked human.

Regali was the first to recover, her old sardonic self. _Well, it looks as if Her Majesty is awake_, she said, chuckling.

Calix stared at her. He had never seen a woman—never seen _anyone_—change moods as quickly as Regali just had. And he had known a lot of volatile people.

Beast snorted. "Regali, shut up and go away."

_Glad to see you're feeling better._

"What part of shut up don't you understand? I need to talk to Calix."

Calix stared at the wolf. Had she ever called him Calix before? At least, when she wasn't angry.

Regali huffed, but vanished.

Beast growled. "I hate that."

Calix stood and stretched, his back cracking several times and instantly making him feel looser. "Let's check out your face," he said easily, half-forgetting that she was Beast.

He turned to remove the bandages and she pulled away and glared at him. "Why did you say that?" she demanded.

"Say what?" Calix asked blankly, before remembering the question he had asked just as Beast had awoken. "Oh. That."

"Well?" she asked. "You knew the answer. It's obvious, isn't it?"

He smiled wryly. "It is. I just—" he stopped and took a breath. "I was just thinking of how Regali was a mother, and then I thought of my mother, and…" he frowned. "I don't know why I asked. I don't know why I do anything anymore."

Beast looked up at him, her eyes sardonic. "This place is like that."

He grabbed the basin next to the bed and went to the washroom, filling it with cool water. "Come here," he said, "and don't move."

Beast narrowed her eyes at the water.

Calix sighed, exasperated. "I'm just going to clean your face. It was infected even before you got into a fight with the wolves."

"H-how long ago was that?" she asked slowly.

Calix shrugged. "A week, week and a half maybe. I'm not sure. I lost track. It all ran together.

She looked down and stilled. Gently, Calix sat next to her and removed the bandages. He examined her face closely.

"You're a freak," she muttered. Calix chuckled but looked relieved.

"It's healing well," he said. "It's scabbed over, so I'm going bandage it so you don't pick at them."

"I won't pick at them!" Beast said, half-scandalized.

Calix raised an eyebrow. Beast sighed, and stilled again.

Gently Calix washed her face, cleaned it, and wrapped it up again. "And you're not moving. You've got some bad wounds on your legs and back, though I've had no worry of infection. And I'd bet you've got a cold."

As if to prove the fact Beast sneezed.

Calix swore and pulled his hands away from her muzzle, where he had been finishing a bandage.

For a moment, time stopped, and then suddenly Beast had rolled away from him and was staring at him unguardedly, green eyes wide and…fearful?

Calix was staring at his hand. Blood dripped down his index and middle fingers, falling onto the rich gilded bedspread, leaving dark patches on the deep red brocade.

"I-I—" Beast stared at him. They had had their first civil conversation _ever_ and she had ruined it. Surprisingly, she _liked_ talking to him; he didn't treat her like she was a queen. The feeling of being treated like a queen, even when alone, had always permeated the air. When she was alive, the servants tripped over themselves when they bowed, all out of fear, most also out of respect, and some out of love as well. She had been worshiped, albeit reluctantly. But this healer…he was honest to her. He treated her like she was a woman, a human woman, not a queen, not a wolf, but someone perfectly normal.

As Queen, she had never tired of being worshiped, or so she had thought. The first few days of peace and quiet, after the moments of fear and hatred had past, she almost reveled in the silence, until she would move and feel her wolf's body move around her human self and the hatred would set back in.

She had ruined it.

Her conscience whispered _apologize apologize apologize apologize, dammit! _

She had never apologized in her life.

Calix stared at her with wide eyes. The only sound was the steady, slow drip of blood onto the bedspread.

And then Beast said it.

"I-I wanted to thank you."

Claix's eyes darted to hers. "What?"

"For saving me. You could've left me to die in the woods and then all bets would be off. You could've gone home. Unless the curse changed, that is. But you didn't. You saved me. And I wanted to thank you."

"You—you're welcome," Calix said, gray eyes dark.

Beast rushed on. "And--and—I—I'm—I'm sorry. For biting you."

Calix's eyes widened at the sudden apology. Then he chuckled nervously, a slight smile crossing his face. "It's nothing. Just a scratch. My sisters gave me worse."

Beast smiled faintly. "Your sisters?"

"I had two," he said, "Minya and Freira."

"I had a sister," she said, "Adrena."

Calix smiled. "That's a pretty name."

"She was mentally retarded," Beast said softly. "She had the mind of a seven-year-old."

"How old was she?"

"When she died? Twelve. I was fourteen." That made it sound so simple. She shuddered, trying to forget the ugly truth behind Adrena's death, trying to forget the solitary sound of dripping blood, the final sobbing, panting breaths of her sister, the glassy eyes, a bitter taste of bile in her mouth.

Calix sat down on the bed again. "My older sister died when I was seventeen. She was twenty-two. She fell off a horse. Her skull cracked open and she broke her neck. She died in my arms."

The words were said simply, with no emotion whatsoever, but Beast could see the hidden pain in his eyes, which hadn't left her gaze since he had begun to talk. He looked away suddenly, down at his bleeding fingers. He reached over and grabbed a scrap of spare bandages, wrapping his fingers.

"My sister," Beast said," was killed by one of those people who loved to kill, and would draw out the killing painfully, making it as slow, and as painful, as possible. Up until the moment she died, she thought that I had hired them. She hated me." Beast's voice cracked on the last few words.

Calix died off the small wound on his finger and moved over on the bed to tentatively touch the wolf's head. "But you didn't."

She turned bitter green eyes to him. "No. No, I didn't. But that's almost worse than if I had."

"Why?"

"If…" he voice cracked again, and Calix resisted the sudden urge to wrap his arms around her neck. "If I had known, if I had hired him, then I could have stopped him."

ooo

"Soshon."

The man turned to face Marini, the milliner's apprentice. "Yes?"

"What did your master say?"

"We're to prepare."

"And?"

Soshon's voice was bitter. "I can't have her."

"Why do you want her?" the woman asked, sitting on the arm of Soshon's chair, touching his face. "You have me."

Soshon touched her face. "You're not enough, Marini." And she wasn't. Sure, Marini was beautiful…she was flawless. Her blue eyes were bright, brilliant, her copper-gold hair was in perfect ringlets, hanging to her shoulder blades. She was small, with a narrow waist and petite, lovely frame with just the right amount of curves. But she was nothing compared to the beauty of Freira, long and willowy, with sharp gray eyes and that perfectly straight black hair. If Marini was flawless, Freira was God.

Marini pouted, but Soshon missed the true hurt underneath the mask. She slid into his lap, placed a hand on his chest. "What can I add? How can I become enough?"

He slid an arm around her waist. "You can never be enough."

Gently she stroked his face, tangled slender fingers into his hair. "But you can't have her. How can she be enough?"

"She would be. But you'll have to do." He lowered her head for a kiss, and tasted tears on her lips. How had he not noticed she was crying?

But by then her small hands were underneath his shirt, stroking the skin there, and he was undoing the buttons on the back of her dress and then it was just soft skin and muffled cries and Fre—no, _Marini_ was murmuring his name and he moaned back, "Freira…"

She stilled under him and her voice was hoarse, husky with desire. "Will you always love her?"

He nibbled softly on her collarbone. "I don't know," he whispered. "I don't know."

"You're a bastard," she said.

He kissed her again, moving against her. When she cried out, he smiled. "I know," he said, "I know."

ooo

_Maxmilien was pouring her some wine when she entered the throne room from the side chamber where she met with her advisors, dark hair disheveled, straightening her dress._

_"If you say anything," she threatened, "I'll kill you."_

_Maxmilien bowed and was silent. _

_She sat still for a moment, and then said, "Maxmilien, bring me my mirror and cosmetics."_

_"Yes, your majesty," he said, and left._

_She knew that Maxmilien knew what she had just done. She didn't know what he thought—damn, he was too good at his job. _

_The advisor exited. He was the one in his forties, still handsome in an older-man kind of way, tall and muscular. _

_Well, she thought ruefully, at least was somewhat attractive, unlike last night. The oldest advisor was damn _ugly

_However, he was considerably more put-together than she was. Of course, short hair was so much easier to deal with and it was a lot easier to button a fly than it was to lace a corset and put on petticoats while the overdress was still on. _

_He smirked at her, raising an eyebrow. She gave him a severe glare. "Get out of my sight," she said firmly, danger in her voice._

_The advisor chuckled and left, just as Maxmilien returned._

_She set up the mirror on the wide arm of the throne and set her kohl, lip rouge, and blush next to it. Picking up a damp handkerchief to wipe the previous makeup off her face, she said, "Maxmilien."_

_He bowed. "Yes, Majesty."_

_She powdered her face. "Tell me, am I beautiful?"_

_Maxmilien smiled slightly. "You are gorgeous, Majesty."_

_"Am I? Am I really?" she asked, dusting blush over her cheekbones._

_"Yes, Majesty," he said calmly. "In a chilling sort of way, like a distant goddess."_

_She brushed the gray kohl over her eyelids and took a tiny brush to line her eyes and dust her eyelashes with the black kohl. "What is your wife like, Maxmilien?"_

_He smiled with love, and she was jealous of the emotion. "She's…warm. And soft. She's…she's pretty. Her skin is tanned with the sun and she always has a blush on her cheeks. She has hair, warm and golden, and bright brown eyes. She's short, and a little plump. But to me, there has never been anyone more perfect."_

_"You love her." Her voice was neutral. _

_"Of course." _

_"She's not perfect."_

_"No," Maxmilien said. "but she's my love. I love her flaws as perfections."_

_"Maxmilien, am I perfect?" as she applied her lip rouge. _

_"Yes."_

_She smirked, happy that she was considered beautiful by a man that was so deeply in love with another woman, and happy that she was perfect. "Good."_

_She looked in the mirror. She knew how to apply the makeup, to make her eyes larger and her lips fuller and her nose straight. She smiled, no teeth, seductive. She _was_ perfect. _

_And she wasn't going to let any advisor make her anything else. _

ooo

Once Calix let her out of bed, she went to the throne room. And for the first time in over a month, she could see the village.

It was market day, the second day of the week. The town square was bustling and happy, the people and colors bright despite the fact that it was still gray and cold, snow lingering on the ground.

A familiar tall black-haired girl wandered through the crowd, eyes focused on a list. She stopped at the baker's, and got several loaves of bread, and the seamstress', and picked up several brightly colored spools of yarn. She also got a bolt of fabric the color of sunlight, and smiled as she carried the burden, arms wrapped around it. Beast knew that she was drawing warmth from the fabric, as though it was not cotton in her hands, but true sunlight, warming her and keeping her like a hug.

A tall, handsome young man, perhaps Calix's age, with brown hair. He was not as good-looking as Calix, but he also lacked the slight foreboding of sadness that seemed to hang around Calix. He had an easy smile, a handsome one, but not as precious as Calix's, for he smiled so rarely that each smile was a gift.

The man stopped the black-haired girl that she knew was Calix's younger sister. What had Johan said her name was? Frera, Freira, Frida, something like that.

"Hey, Miss Merchantson," the man said.

Frida-Frera-Freira hugged the sunlight-fabric to her. "What do you want, Soshon?" she demanded.

"I was just wondering if you'd heard from your dear brother yet," the man said, a smirk on his face.

"Actually," Frera-Frida-Freira said, "We received a letter a little before you returned from the city."

"Oh?" Soshon raised an eyebrow.

"Do you doubt me?" the girl demanded. "He's doing well; he's really needed there. He's studying under a surgeon, actually." She bit her lip, looking around. At this point, a small crowd had gathered around them. "What do you _want_, Soshon?" she demanded again, gray eyes flashing. "Stop baiting me and leave me alone! I'm not interested and you know it! Go back to your baker slut!"

A few people gasped, and even the man Soshon looked slightly taken aback.

"What did you say, Freira?" he asked in a low voice. So that _was_ her name!

Freira, flushed with anger, responded lowly, "You heard me. Go home to Marini and take your plans for revolution elsewhere. It won't succeed, and I won't stand for it."

She turned to leave, and the crowd parted around her.but Soshon stopped her. "Friera."

She turned. "What." The word wasn't even posed as a question.

"Do you know what the town was called before it was Vanderwood?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Enlighten me."

"Johannesburg." Freira's body tensed, but she otherwise didn't react. Soshon continued. "It was named for a young man, around twenty-five, twenty-six or so, actually my uncle many generations back. He vanished about a hundred years ago. His name was Johan, did you know?" Soshon smirked. "It was changed because my grandfather, Vanderwood Weaver, was said to have been visited by Johan, in the flesh, but unable to be seen. It was also said that Johan caused him to lose his mind. Anyway, when he died from an unknown reason, it was decided that the name would be changed out of shame for Johan, or Johan's ghost, or whatever, and out of respect for the dead. Interesting, hmmm?"

Freira remained frozen, tense. The entire crowd was silent and still. Finally, the girl spoke.

"Soshon, go back to your whore, abandon your revolution plans, forget about the Crown, and leave me alone."

The crowd gasped again, and Soshon stared at her. She turned and met his gaze.

A smaller woman, with a perfect, voluptuous frame, long ringlets hanging free, darted forward and plastered herself to Soshon's side.

"Freira—" he said carefully. The woman beside him stiffened, and he tightened his grip around her waist.

"Did you hear me, Soshon? It won't work. Leave me alone."

She turned from him and walked away. Soshon stared out at her, eyes wide. The woman next to him had tears sparkling in her eyes, and Beast could hear her words clearly.

"Soshon, isn't this enough? Let her be! Please, let her be, for me."

They rang with the desperate air of one in love, and she recalled the time when her own voice had that desperateness in it, when she begged the one she loved to stay, to remain with her.

Soshon pushed the small woman away. "Leave me alone, Marini." Then he stalked after the tall girl, leaving the woman to hug her ribs, staring off into the distance.

Did it always fail? Beast wondered as the vision faded. Would it always be like that for lovers? Was there anyone who actually ended up happy?

She wondered how it ended. She wondered what would happen to them.

Soshon. He had been handsome, but she could see why Freira wasn't attracted to him. After all, she had someone like Johan…even if she didn't know what he looked like. And Calix…Calix was beautiful. Handsome. In a sad way.

…

When had Calix become more beautiful than Johan?

There was a knock on the throne room door. "Beast?"

Oh, gods.

She nudged the throne room doors open and walked out. "Yes?"

Calix looked half-nervous, half-concerned. "I want to change your bandages."

"For the love of all things holy!" Beast snapped. "You changed them just yesterday!"

"Yesterday," Calix said patiently. "_Yesterday._ Not today. They have to be changed at least every day, if not more, to make sure it's healing."

"It won't heal," Beast said. "Didn't I tell you that?"

Calix raised an eyebrow. "No, you didn't."

"Oh. Well, I told your sister."

The other eyebrow arched to match the one already in his hairline. "Do I _look_ like Freira to you?"

They did look alike, though it wasn't as though they were identical. They had different noses, though their eyes, hair, and stubborn jawline were similar. Their mouths, also, were different; Freira had a small cherubic mouth, with full, pouty lips, and Calix's was more masculine, longer, with chapped lips, the bottom one scabbed over in that _one spot_ where he worried it while he was healing, never any other time.

"Beast?"

Had she been human, she would've blushed. Here, she was, thinking about his lips!

What was becoming of her?

She sighed. "I did this to myself. It's part of the curse. You can't heal it."

Calix shook his head. "Nonsense. It can be healed."

Beast was annoyed suddenly. She growled and lightly took her wrist in her mouth, dragging him into the throne room.

Calix nearly gasped at the fact that she was taking him here, but managed to restrain himself.

She dropped his wrist in front of a portrait…a portrait of a very beautiful young woman, with pale skin, a long straight black black black hair, bright green eyes, tilted slightly up at the ends and large in her face, framed with dark, sooty, long lashes. Her lips were not too full, not too thin, just perfectly plump. Her figure was slender, almost boyish, but with the perfect amount of curves not to be.

The most noticeable thing about the portrait, though, were the slash marks across the pretty girl's face.

"See those marks?" Beast demanded hotly. "The first day I was…changed, I saw this portrait. And I did that. No matter, though, how often I tried to clean the wound with the clean water and stayed still to prevent it from getting dirty, it sucked dust and sickness into it. Within days it was infected, and it has been ever since. It has been green around the edges for as long as I can remember and—"

"It is no longer green now, " Calix said softly.

"Look, Calix, it won't—what?" Beast demanded, whirling to face him.

"It's not green," he said simply, holding her sharp gaze with seeming ease.

"What—why—"

Calix smiled faintly. "It just took a little bit of time, some tender, loving care, and a _lot_ of luck."

"But—"

Calix knelt next to her and pulled some bandages and two small tubs out of his pocket. "_All_ wounds can be healed, no matter how long you've had them."

He was careful as he gently removed the bandages. He opened one tub and gently washed her face, and then spread some salve that smelled sweetly of roses onto the slowly healing cuts. Beast smiled as she watched him gnaw on his lower lip, but was sobered when his words set in.

"Even—" she said, half-bitterly, and broke off. Calix stopped his ministrations for a moment and looked up at her. She took a deep breath and continued. "Even wounds of the heart?"

Calix knew he had spoken perhaps a bit rashly, and had forgotten about all the emotional baggage she dragged around with her.

Then he lowered his head to the wounds and refocused his attention on them. Beast let out a sad sigh, thinking he wasn't going to say anything.

Then he spoke. "I guess…" he said lowly, and trailed off, still appearing to the world as though he was entirely focused on the bandage he was winding around her face. "I guess time doesn't heal all wounds."

She nodded. And Calix tied the last knot of her bandage. She made a move to leave, but Calix, still kneeling stopped her.

"But…" he added, voice still soft, meeting her eyes now. There was something that hadn't been there before in his gaze, or perhaps something that had been there and was not there anymore—a lack of hatred, or maybe a presence of kinship; she wasn't sure, but it made his eyes warmer when he looked at her. "Though _time_ doesn't heal all wounds, time's a bitch. It ages us, makes us bitter, changes things. So time doesn't heal all wounds, but love…love is a different story." He smiled warmly at her. She stared at him, openmouthed. "Think about that," he said, standing, patting her on the head.

Beast stared after him, contemplating that perhaps there was more to love than sex.

Perhaps, even, there was more to sex than lust.

But there was definitely more to Calix than meets the eye.

She flopped on the ground, careful not to disturb her face, and lay still, a broken, formerly beautiful wolf in a broken, formerly beautiful room.

Maybe, she thought, remembering the pack in the forest, maybe there was actually a _reason_ as to why the enchantress bitch made her a wolf.

ooo

**A/N:** So there you have it. chapter 16. w00t.

check out my livejournal! I heart concrit! Yeah. Bye

nebulia out.


	18. Comfort

**Comfort**

_It's a backwards attraction  
to your forward eyes  
but you're so far sided_

_That you can't place trust  
in what all you may recognize  
--Death Cab For Cutie, "Your Bruise"_

Beast lay sprawled in front of the throne in the throne room.

The past few days at the palace had been lazy and warm, the wind still strong outside though the snow had stopped. It was cold on the balconies, in the kitchens, in the entrance hall, hell, it was cold everywhere except the throne room, which was magically heated, the library, which had a roaring fireplace, and Calix's and Beast's bedrooms, where Regali had activated the long-dormant spells for heat. Thus, most of Beast's time had been spent preserving heat in warm places. Calix, she thought, was doing the same, and catching up on all the sleep he had lost while caring for her.

But while time had been boring, slow and lazy in the palace, Vanderwood was bustling with rumors. The stained glass window had been particularly active recently, and Beast had watched with a fascination that startled her. She rarely expressed such an interest in anything, but…

Regali had this stupid idea in her head that this sudden interest in the town was an interest in her new subjects, as she and Calix were 'so close' to breaking the spell.

Which was bullshit. Calix was…Calix was…

She wasn't sure what Calix was but she didn't love him. He wasn't quite a friend yet, either, but she didn't really hate him anymore. She couldn't hate him now, not after what they had been through.

The memories of what occurred in the clearing assaulted her again, as they had in her nightmares.

_She burst into the clearing he was standing in and watched him pick up a branch to fend off the wolves—gods, they looked almost rabid. It was hard for him to fight them; there were just too many of them, and he was cold and tired, his lips blue, his skin white against red blood._

"_No," she whispered softly. "No, please, no!"_

_And then she was screaming, her voice cracking, the one word she never wanted him to hear._

"_Johan!"_

_Everything stopped._

_Calix turned and her heart flew into her throat._

She didn't know why she had called _his_ name; Johan had never and would never come for her. He had never loved her, never would. He loved Freira, and they looked well together. She and Johan would have clashed; their eyes were too bright. Freira's steady eyes suited his blue ones much better than her emerald orbs ever could.

And, now that she though about it, she wondered if she would have fought the wolves for him—for Johan. The wolves were…terrifying, to say the least, and they were everything she didn't want to become. She wanted to remain human, but during her hundred thirteen years as a wolf she had gained animalistic tendencies she was afraid she would never lose, even if she became human again.

To fight the wolves, on their level, as she had…she once thought that it would condemn herself to their level, keeping her an animal, mindless, brainless, nothing but a monster.

But she had done it for Calix, when she had never done, would never do it for Johan.

What did that say?

She swore at the prospect and shook her head violently. She didn't love Calix! She was just…she was...

And this, she knew, in a sudden realization, this was the heart of the issue.

She was a different person than she had been ninety-eight years ago.

The prospect, to her surprise, both relieved her and terrified her.

ooo

Friera was gardening one day when Johan came home.

He said the tapestry was nearly done; he was merely putting it together. But it was done in a room that was used often, and so he had to be there when no one else was, which explained the odd hours he had suddenly begun to use. It was nice to have him around the house again.

She heard him walk out onto the back porch, and then the sound of his feet padding softly across the dirt. She turned to face him and he took her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Hey, Frera."

"Hey," she responded, her voice muffled into his shirt.

His fingers tangled in her hair, his head dropped to her shoulder, his arms tightened around her.

She allowed his weight to push her back so they were leaning against the fence. "Johan?"

"I just…need to hold you for a while, Frera."

She nodded. "All right, then."

They leaned against the fence for a while, Freira allowing Johan to squeeze her blue, because he needed it. Eventually, though, he spoke.

"Before you moved in…oh, it must have been fifty years ago, a woman lived here."

His words were muffled, spoken into her neck. Freira repressed the warm shiver that moved through her at the feeling of his lips on her skin.

He paused for a moment before speaking again. "She was old. Eighty, ninety. I never found out. Her family kicked her out, sent her here. Her husband had left, she said, forty years before, and she had lived with her family, but eventually she went blind and they said it was because he had been the mistress of a sorceress before marrying her. Sorceresses are supposed to have those diseases; you know how superstitious the villagers are. So they sent her here.

"I was here, of course. Alone. I had been lonely. With nightmares and the forest always there—" he broke off and pulled her closer, trembling.

She stroked his hair softly, closing her eyes in sympathy and pain. "Shh," she whispered. "You don't have to tell me."

He shook his head. "No," he said fiercely. "I _want _to. I _need_ to."

She nodded then. "Take your time," she said, her voice no louder than a whisper.

They stood in silence for a moment, and then he began to speak again. "She came, and she thought I was…you know…_normal_. She couldn't see, right? She didn't know I was invisible."

The hand in her hair pulled the pins out, and then the ribbon, allowing the strands, already loosened by his hands, to tumble around her cheeks. It was getting long for her…it almost brushed her shoulder blades now. She had always kept it short because it was a pain, and because Minya's was so much prettier, but she found she liked the length, liked the way Johan ran his hands through it.

"She hated the dark. She always would ask me to describe the light for her, and I would, of course, but still, even though she wanted to know the light, she still cried every time. Whenever she cried I would make her pancakes." She felt the beginnings of a smile curve against her pulse point.

"We would eat them almost every day. She knew so much about me…it was like I had been unable to speak for years, and then when she came the dam burst and I was talking."

"What happened to her?" Freira asked softly.

_Why are you telling me this? Why are you telling me when you never tell me anything?_

"She died, of course," Johan said. "I was…I was happy for her, I guess. She was finally somewhere bright. Somewhere happy. She no longer had to fight the dark."

He shook violently now, and Freira allowed them to sink to their knees and then she sat, leaning against the fence.

"I—I," Johan's voice broke. "I—thought it was because she was kind, and the first person I had seen in years. But your father was kind, and Calix was as well, but I never felt like I could tell them everything like I told her. But you—" he stopped.

They sat for a moment, and then Freira, insanely curious, asked. "Me what?"

"You—I want to tell you so much! I want to tell you everything that happened every day for the one hundred twenty-three years I've been alive! But—"

"But?" she prompted softly.

She felt dampness on her neck and nearly gasped.

"But I can't. You'd—you'd hate me. You'd—" and the rest was said so softly she could hardly hear it, "you'd hate _her_. All of them."

She wanted to ask what he meant, but she knew he wouldn't tell her.

She stroked his hair again and pulled out the invisible tie almost by reflex.

His head jerked up, nearly hitting her in the chin. She stared at where his head should be with wide eyes, and then lifted the hand with the tie in it.

It was a small leather strap, deep brown, and worn with age.

She flushed and felt the wind blow strands of his hair around her face. "I—I'm sorry."

He took a breath, and said, "I—I…I love you, and I always will," but it was sounded almost like a breath, an illusion.

She touched his face, and moved her hand across his tearstained cheekbone, till it reached his hair. Then she cupped his cheek and leaned forward, kissing him gently on the corner of his mouth. "I will love you," she said resolutely, "no matter what. Invisible or not, ugly or beautiful, killer or pacifist, poor or rich, I will love you. All of you."

His brave girl. His Freira.

He lifted his hand to hers and took her lips, his other hand coming to rest around her waist, his lips warm and moist.

When they broke apart, both were breathing slightly hard. Freira pressed her forehead to his, eyes still closed.

A gust of wind blew their hair in front of their faces, tickling her nose.

Freira opened her eyes.

Black strands obscured her vision, mixed with a nut brown.

What…

The wind died down, her hair settled around her shoulders, and Freira found herself staring into very blue eyes.

"Johan…?"

ooo

He had been traveling for such a long time.

He couldn't stay in one place for very long; he stood out, and he wasn't aging, always about thirty-five or so, he thought…but it had been so long. So long since he had known.

He was looking for _her_.

What a joke. She wouldn't be found. The palace was…no one knew where the palace was.

He had given up long ago on what she had told him to do. He had left his wife, and had wandered, looking for the palace.

Eventually, he had crossed the Rose Forest, and when no palace had appeared, where the palace had once been, he had searched. Perhaps she had left; perhaps the curse that had been prophesied had been put into place had destroyed it and her as well.

He thought he would know if that had happened, though…he had, after all, had several side effects from being released, and being able to hear when people talked about him, or when someone called for him, no matter the distance, was one of them.

He stood in the village…it was a good week's walk from the Rose Forest, and probably a month's journey from the city, the middle of nowhere.

He closed his eyes and called. _Regali…_

The wind blew, a heavy gust that carried voices.

_A woman lived here. _

He paused. The voice was a man's, broken-sounding and hoarse. An unfamiliar voice, he thought. He stopped listening for more. After a pause, it came.

_She was old. Eighty, ninety. I never found out. Her family kicked her out, sent her here. Her husband had left, she said, forty, fifty years before, and she had lived with her family, but eventually she went blind and they said it was because he had been the mistress of a sorceress before marrying her. Sorceresses are supposed to have those diseases; you know how superstitious the villagers are._

His…his wife?

Where? He asked the winds. Where?

They swirled around him and suddenly he knew. He didn't like it, but he knew.

Vanderwood.

The gust died, leaving him alone on the hill. He hefted his bag and stood.

It was time to go home.

ooo

Calix frowned at Beast's muzzle.

The gashes were still scabbed.

It wasn't a big problem, per se, as it had been only two weeks since Beast had awoken. But they scabs weren't getting any better. It was as though nothing at all had happened since that day two weeks ago.

He was probably overly worried. No, he _was_ overly worried. Things would be just fine. This was a magic-caused wound; it wasn't going to heal like most wounds do. He just had to be patient.

Calix prided himself in being an easy-going man. He rarely got angry or lost his temper, and he was calm and consoling, though stubborn. He also had infinite patience. He needed infinite patience in his profession.

Beast certainly brought out the worst in him. He had had more arguments with her than he had ever had before in his life, he'd lost his patience, and he was as stubborn, if not more, than ever.

He cursed under his breath.

Beast, who had been lying, surprisingly calm, next to him on the floor in the warm kitchen, said drowsily, "What?"

Calix shook his head. "It's nothing."

Her eyes snapped open, and she fixed him with a hard look. "Liar."

Calix rolled his eyes slightly. "What makes you think it has anything to do with you?"

She smirked. "So there is something!" She rolled over and sat up, eyes still narrowed. "Anyway, there's no one else for you to have a problem with. So what is it?"

"It's nothing," Calix said, his voice tinged with anger.

"Liar!" Beast snapped. "Tell me!"

"What are you going to do?" Calix asked. "_Order_ me?"

Beast's glare intensified. "Damn you! Just tell me. What the hell is wrong?"

"Why do you want to know?" Calix snapped back, his voice rising in volume.

"Because if you don't tell me, I'll worry just the same, dammit!" Beast yelled back.

There was a pause, and then Beast looked away quickly. "Just tell me what's wrong," she muttered.

Calix sighed. "I'm just worried. It's not healing as well as I wanted it to."

Beast smirked slightly. "Told you it wouldn't heal," she said, just for the sake of arguing.

"Shut up," Calix retorted archly.

They sat in silence for a time, and finally Beast said, her voice still a little rough with anger, "So what are you going to do about it?"

"Does it still itch?" Calix asked, turning to face the wolf. He gently took her muzzle in his hands and examined it. It looked like any other wound, other than the fact that there had been no change. He wished he knew exactly how the spell worked, or even what the wound had been like when it was fresh. _Anything_, to help him understand exactly why it wouldn't heal like a normal wound.

Perhaps, he mused, it was because she was a wolf, and not human, though he doubted it.

But if it wasn't that, than what was it?

The library. He would have to do research.

That tiny voice, the one in the back of his head, mocked him. _You seem awfully determined to heal this wound of _Beast's_, aren't you?_

_No!_ he snapped back. _It's not because it's Beast, it's because it's a challenge, and I'm bored out of my mind._

_You're a really bad liar_, the voice said. _You know that, right?_

"Calix?"

He jumped, realizing he'd been lost in his thoughts. "Sorry, I got distracted…_does_ it still itch?"

Beast nodded.

Calix frowned. "So it's just like any other cut; it's just like it stopped healing. Hmmm…" He turned to the bowl sitting next to him and quickly pounded some rose petals into a paste. The smell curled out of the bowl and wafted around them, sweet and fresh. Carefully, he made a poultice with the petals, and wrapped Beast's face. "Don't scratch," he ordered.

"Of course not," Beast responded dryly.

"I'll meet you in your room at sundown to change the bandages," he said, standing and gathering the bowl and his medicine bag.

"I'll be there," Beast said as she walked out. "I'm going out to hunt."

Calix whirled. "You're _what_?"

"Going out to hunt," Beast said. "You've seen me do it."

"Beast, it's freezing out there! And the wolves could go after you! And you're not fully healed! And the wolves could go after you!" Suddenly angry again, Calix approached the wolf. "As your Healer, I forbid you from hunting outside."

Beast raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And how do expect me to eat? For the past weeks, you've brought me food. This is the first time you haven't _carried_ me somewhere!"

"Can't you eat from here?" Calix asked blankly.

"Of course I can," Beast said sarcastically. "Which is why I go out and hunt down a rabbit or two once ever two or three days and eat it _raw_." She glared at Calix. "It's a stipulation. Anything except me can get food from here. Kind of a 'look what you could have but no! You're under a curse! clause."

Calix frowned. "Well, then." He turned to the kitchen. "I'd like a bowl of vegetable stew and a raw steak, please."

"What?" Beast asked.

Calix took the bowl and the plate that had appeared on the table and sat down on the floor. "I'm not letting you hunt out there in the cold with your face still like that. Come here. Let's eat."

Beast blinked several times. And then she shook her head. "I—I couldn't. I'm not a very clean eater—"

"We went through this already," Calix said fiercely. "We went through that a long time ago, Beast. _I don't care_. Now, shut up and come over here and eat"

"I hate you," Beast muttered. _How can you do this to me?_

She sat next to Calix and ripped a piece of meat from the steak as he watched. Blood splattered across the floor as the steak was torn apart. She snapper her jaws and took the bit of meat in her mouth, chewing hard to break down the big bite. She could feel blood splatter across her front legs and her jaw.

Calix took a bite of his vegetable soup, very calmly.

Her steak was gone long before he finished his soup, but she remained and watched him eat. He was so beautiful.

Where did _that_ thought come from? she wondered suddenly. He wasn't—he wasn't—he wasn't _Johan_, dammit! He was Calix, and she hated him! He was her hateful friend, her horrible friend, her stupid healer, her—

_How can you do this to me?_

ooo

A/N: A little shorter chapter and… Gasp! No dream sequence this chapter! And an update in less than two months, ooh! Look at that!

Mmmkay…there's a spot in this chapter, where Johan's talking about his old woman and mentions that sorceresses have diseases. In this world, one peasant superstition is that sorcerers, and, more often, sorceresses, are supposed to be diseased from corruption with magic, and also, because sorcerers, and more so, sorceresses (due to their female status), are supposedly notoriously promiscuous. Neither is true, but due to the lack of a government, magic-workers are rare in Imperial Soneh and thus people don't know much about them and consequently fear them. So the villagers determine that's why Johan's old woman went blind, because her husband passed the disease he got from sleeping with a sorceress to her.

Anyway, now that it's summer, expect more updates on this. Also, check out my Livejournal for info on updates and other schtuff. So. Umm…I think really that's all the info on this chapter. So. See you later this summer!

nebulia out.


	19. Desire

**A/N: **Oh, boy! Chapter 18! It's a rather dark chapter, to tell you the truth…and a different tone than the previous could of chapters. Once I finish this story, I'm going to go back and edit it and try to smooth it out, as it's very choppy and there's a lot I'm not happy with Also, this chappy does push the T rating, though I think it stays within the boundaries of the rating. There's nothing explicit. Umm…anyway…here you go.

**Desire**

_And I would be the one  
To hold you down  
Kiss you so hard  
I'll take your breath away  
--Sarah McLachlan_

Calix was walking along the garden pathway.

It was still bitterly cold, but not nearly as severe as it had been. The sky was overcast, as always, and the snow still lay heavy on the ground, white and dull in the gray light. But the roses were as perfrect as they had ever been, coated with ice, but not snow, and, as he watched, they bloomed still, as though it were summer and sunny and blue-skied.

Calix himself was wrapped in a trench coat and scarf he'd found in the closet of his room, and his hands were shoved deep in his pockets. Surprisingly, he was not cold, and he walked briskly, aimlessly, hoping to avoid the center of the garden and the dark roses that terrified him.

He had long since given up trying to find his way around the garden. He hadn't been in the thick of it since the day he had ran into the forest, but then he had been trying to get away. So, he let himself get lost, knowing—_hoping—_that the roses would keep him alive.

_A bit cold to be out walking, don't you think?_

Calix looked up, and saw a single iridescent, purple-black rose, coated with the thinnest sheen of ice, peering at him from a bush of white roses. "Leave me alone," he said calmly, and ignored it, continuing to walk.

_Why_? The dry voice asked a moment later, and another rose, this one still a bud, looking like a dark bruise, brushed his arm.

The pathway was narrowing, becoming smaller and smaller on him, and he was surrounded by the roses, the dark blooms suddenly making their way through the bushes and forcing the white roses—_white for purity of intent_—out of the way.

He was surrounded by dark roses, and they were whispering, snippets of insanity that he could barely hear, words that slipped past his ears and were only caught in his subconscious.

"Leave me alone!" he snapped, wanting to curl in on himself but not wanting to give the roses the pleasure of it.

_No._ The roses brushed his arms, his back, his legs slowly. He pulled the coat around himself. It was almost as though—

No. No. Not that.

"Why?" he demanded, fighting to keep the terror out of his voice.

A vine twined around his thigh, began sliding up to his hip.

_You want it, don't you? Really, deep inside, you want her._

He yanked his leg away. "I _don't!"_

_You do. You want to shove her against a wall and make her yours, don't you?_

"_No!"_

_If you did that, she would be human again, you know. Because you love—_

"I do not!"

_You do. And then you could take her. She's beautiful, isn't she? Like…like a rose, delicate, thorny, all at once. Even in this state_.

Something in him agreed. Enthusiastically. "_No!" _he screamed, his voice cracking. He did curl up now, sliding to the ground, hands wrappng tightly around his knees. "_I don't want her!" _

_If you're sure…_ the roses said, mocking him. _Because she wants you, you know_.

They vanished, and he was suddenly in the wide garden pathway again, surrounded by white roses, panting from fear—and, though he refused to admit it, perhaps arousal as well—and suddenly curious.

_She wants you, you know…_

He turned to where he could see the palace walls, tall and imposingly white even against the overcast sky.

But…

_Because she wants you, you know…_

The thought terrified him.

ooo

He always walked. He supposed it stemmed from having been always cooped up, first in wagons and tents, and then bodiless, in a mind, for so long.

So he walked. Sometimes, when he was full of way too much energy for being as old as he was, or when he was awoken panting with desire for _her_ that was so strong he could taste it, he ran, hard, until his lungs were on fire and he was breathing so hard he could only cough. He would note the fact that he should stop and keep going until he collapsed.

He had been stupid. So stupid, to push her away as he had, to refuse her. He had been terrified she would reject him, and that had been stupid. His failure to trust her had been stupid, his anger at her discovery had been stupid…he was an idiot. Oh, he was an idiot.

He was a long way from Vanderwood when the winds brought him the voices, several weeks' walk from the city and then the walk to Vanderwood. But he moved quickly, and without tiring, and slept only a little.

Winter that year was nasty, long and cold. Rumors from the old women in the small villages was that the status quo was changing and, until whatever had happened a hundred years ago was fixed, winter would remain.

Lies, rumors, falsehoods, stories—whatever the name, they were untrue. It was simply a bad winter, a long one. Eventually, spring would come again, and the old wives would laugh it off, and everyone would forget.

Things like Endless Winter only happened in fairy tales. And life was not a fairy tale. Fairy tales had happy endings…and a happy ending was not in store for him. Or her.

And it was all his fault.

He missed her. He missed her so badly that it was a physical ache, deep in the bit of his belly and the tips of his fingers and toes. It was constant, never-ending, physical, mental pain.

He only wondered how she felt. Did she hate him? Love him? He couldn't see how she could.

He would always love her, regardless. He had loved her for hundreds of years, and would continue to do so until his unnatural life came to an end, if it ever did. If it didn't, and he continued to love for eternity, he would love her until the end of time, clichés be damned.

He had to get there. And he had to be there before the end of winter. Or else…

Or else, something told him that he would lose her forever.

ooo

"Johan," she breathed, her gray eyes wide. "Johan, you're--" _You're beautiful. _

"Friera?" he asked softly. "Frera, what is it?"

She tugged a lock of his hair. "Johan, Johan, _look_."

She held up the lock she was holding.

"What?" he asked.

"Johan, your hair. It's brown, like chestnuts, and streaked from the sun." Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears and shone with joy.

His eyes widened. "Frera, you can--"

She pressed her fingers to his lips, delighted in the certainty of the motion. "And your eyes are blue as the sky." She pulled her fingers away from his mouth, only to touch his cheekbones, his forehead, his nose. "You're so pale. Like you never go outside, even though you do." Her fingers trailed down his face, stroking his jaw for a moment, and then tracing the smooth cords of his neck and the lines of his collarbone.

He was visible? He had never known; his body had always been a shadow to him. He could see it when he looked down, a vague, colorless shape that he had imagined the appearance of his clothes and the lines of his palms on; he could see it in the mirror, though it was shadowless and terryfying. But now, as he looked down, he found that his body was solid and whole and it felt right, for the first time in ninety-nine years.

He raised his hand, his eyes tracing the lines of his palm, the callouses on his fingers from weaving and gardening.

Friera gently clasped the hand in both of her own, her fingers wrapping around it. She drew it to her lips and kissed it tenderly, tears beginning to streak down her face. "Johan, why?"

He shook his head. "I don't know."

The hand that was not encased in her own came up to her cheek, running his thumb across her cheekbone. He pushed strands of her black hair back, wrapping a lock around his fingers, admiring the ebony silk in a way he never had before, black black black against his pale skin. His eyes met hers, and then dropped to her lips, and he watched her cheeks flush with pink, the world more vibrant, more colorful than it ever had been. And then he forgot about hating himself for what he had done, for what he would do, the guilt and anger and desire for blood sinking deep into the back of his mind as he kissed her, hard, joyful, a hand fisted in her hair, the other on her backside, pulling her into his lap.

She gasped against his mouth, and then when he pulled away and kissed her cheek, she huffed a breathless laugh against his neck. "Johan," she whispered. "Oh, my Johan, I love you."

"I--I love you too," he said softly, and then it flooded back to him and he cried into her hair.

She stroked his back, and rocked him, and he knew she thought it was the newness of being seen.

But it wasn't. No, it was something far worse.

ooo

Calix and Beast were sitting in front of the balcony in Calix's room.

It had started to snow again, and the constant wind blew the large white flakes around in little twisters and gusts. Calix had dragged Beast in to changer her bandage and check her face, and afterwards they shot each other glares and then settled down to watch the oncoming storm.

Today had not been a good day, for some unknown reason, not for either one of them. When Calix had found Beast in the kitchen--a rare occurance, as she seemed to spend more time moping in the throne room than ever--he had asked her to come up to his room so he could change her dressings. In response, she snarled at him and snapped her teeth.

It had reminded Calix of how Beast had broken Friera's fingers on their first and only meeting, and suddenly he was angry.

They bickered in the kitchen until Calix snapped, and picked up the wolf, to her chagrin. She hissed and clawed, but he secured her back legs in one hand, her face in the other, and her forepaws in the crook of his elbow.

Despite his hand being a very effective muzzle, he could hear her muttering and knew that it probably would have singed the ears of a sailor. When he set her down in his room the arguing began again, enough that Beast attempted to bite him and Calix threw a vase across the room.

The vase hit the wall not an inch away from Beast's head, and she felt cool porcelain raining down on her. She froze.

Calix was panting from anger, his eyes narrowed into a deadly glare. She felt something like cold water trickle down her spine.

He had known exactly what he was going to do, and exactly where that vase was going to hit, and it had hit there. the thought that Calix was a lot more deadly than she'd been led to believe struck her, and she wondered just what he was hiding.

The man slumped, and she had to strain to hear his voice, tired, weary, even a tad guilty. "Come on. Just let me change your bandages."

She bowed her head. "All right," she said, her own voice exhausted to her ears.

And so they sat there a few minutes later, staring at the storm in silence.

Finally, he spoke. "Riots happened a lot in the city. Even us rich kids, we got into it sometimes. Not often, but if you were out at night and there was one..." he shrugged. "You threw stuff, mainly. If you got too close you'd better have a knife or be good with your fists, but we never tried to get close. If you weren't involved in the riots, you still had to get through. So you threw rocks and trash and whatever it was to make sure people stayed out of your way, you grabbed a couple more, and you ran until you couldn't. Then you threw more rocks, and ran again. The better your aim was, the more dangerous you were. And after Mother's death, and then again after Minya's, and when we lost all the money, we did a lot of walking. Father was..." he frowned. "Father was in pain, and that was when his business suffered. He always got back on his feet, but then his warehouses burned and things never quite picked up again." His eyes darted to Beast, and then back to the window. "Suddenly, we were poor. And then our friends left, and our servants, and Minya's fiancé, and we planned to move to the little cabin that some obscure relative used to know, and then Minya died." His eyes darkened. "I'm sorry."

She didn't respond for a long time, and then she said, "I forgive you. Anger--anger twists us into something we're really not."

She thought of who she'd been when she was Queen. She'd been angry then, and sad, and even afraid, but mostly angry. At her parents, at herself, at the country.

The only person she hadn't been angry at was Adrena. Adrena, who she couldn't remember anymore, not even her shy, happy smile. Just hateful eyes and a trickle of blood sliding down her face, and a pleading voice.

_Why, Cally, why?_

She felt eyes on her and turned to meet Calix's gray ones. "What?" she asked snappishly.

"Why didn't you ever marry?" he asked suddenly.

"Why didn't I _what?_" she asked, startled.

He shrugged. "You could have married someone—the Prince of the Lerwan Emprie, the King of Solonia—and then had so much more power. It would have been something--" he broke off. "It just seemed like you would have done something like that."

She shook her head, and then said sharply, slightly angered at the fact that he thought she was a power-hungry bitch. "Rules must have changed. When I was Queen, both those countries had merely Consorts, not Queens. And if the King died without an heir, there were some fancy laws so that only a male took over, usually the nearest male relative."

Calix looked at her oddly. "Strange."

"What?" Beast asked, turning towards him.

"I was educated, I know of the Succession Rules. But both the Lerwan Empire and Solonia changed their policies a little over a hundred years ago, so that were the King to die without an heir, the Consort would then become Queen, and rule as Regent until a suitable man for King could be found. Even if she was with child. If that happened, then she would rule until the child came of age. In Solonia, at least. The Lerwan rules were a bit more complicated." He stared at her. "I thought—perhaps it changed not long after—" he broke off, and nodded at her form.

"It must have," she said, and turned to the window, lost in thought.

…_If you do not give me these funds, I _will_ declare war on Solonia. And make no mistake that I will also inform your Consort of our own affair, my King…_

_…You are aware, dear Prince, that unless you should offer me your troops I will make sure your Princess and all of the Continent is aware that your father the Emperor and your goodly self 'raped' me the night of the Lerwan Independence Day Ball, aren't you? What a shame for your beloved country to go the dogs because of a drunken mistake on your part. _

She had manipulated them both, regardless.

But Calix couldn't know. Both countries had complied, thus saving her from war and helping the debt in her own land. But if he found out the tools of her manipulation, he would think her a slut—

Damn it! Why did she care what he thought of her?

She turned and rolled onto her side, resting her jaw on her paws.

Watching the hypnotic patterns of the snow falling, she dreamt.

ooo

_She was in the garden. _

_She hated the garden, always, even as a child. The roses mocked her, terrified her, and she avoided it as much as she could. There was the forest, and the entrance gate area, at least before the curse. She wasn't sure why she was in the garden. _

_She held her skirt up so it didn't drag the ground and looked down at her bare feet in the dust. It was sunny, bright, though cool, a pleasant spring day. _

_"Calix!" she called and realized her hair was down, totally, and she wasn't wearing a crown, and her skirt was plain cotton. How odd. _

_There was a soft whispering laugh in the back of her mind, and she shuddered, and called again, "Calix?"_

_"I'm right here, Beast," he said, and she turned and smiled at him, her face flushing with sudden heat. He had a warm look in his eyes, one that both scared her and made her hungry for him. _

_The roses laughed again, and he heard it as well as she did, and hugged her calmly, as though he did it all the time, and the world faded away as she slid her arms around his narrow waist and he leaned her against the warm palace wall and kissed her lazily, languidly, his tongue tangling with hers in a way that made her tremble with desire—_

_She had had sex before, many times, but she had never felt desire, not like this. Yes, sex was nice, and if they were good, then it was even fantastic, but this slow burn deep in her stomach was new and amazing. _

_She kissed him back, the kiss turning demanding with intent. And things faded to hands and lips and tongues and then they were on the ground panting and then, just before she climaxed, he pulled away and laughed, and his laugh was the dry, sexless one of the roses. _

You're so much fun to play with_, he said. But it wasn't Calix, it was the roses, and she lay there as he walked away, suddenly fully clothed again, unbothered, leaving her naked on the ground in the garden, vulnerable. _

_"Calix!" she gasped, still panting from the sex. "_Calix!"

_And it began to rain, unless those were tears running down her face. _

ooo

She woke up, and Calix was dozing in the chair, oblivious.

And the roses were still laughing.

"You made me dream that!" she hissed to the voice in her head. "You've tortured me since childhood! Leave me alone!"

_No_, the roses said, and sighed. _We can't make you dream anything…though we can _enhance _it a little. Your mutual attraction is so amusing. And why should we leave you alone when you're both so much fun to play with?_

Beast stared out at the snow, and in the panels of the glass, she could see the cottage where Johan lived, and through the window, two perfectly visible, human figures curled around each other on a bed.

_No…Johan…_

_Calix…_

ooo

**A/N:** So, it's a little shorter than my last couple of chapters, but I hope the Calix/Beast fluff makes up for it. At least until the fluff gets depressing and creepy.

Next chapter: The roses are defined (a little), Johan wonders, and Beast mopes—and there's closure on this wandering guy—sort of. You should know who he is anyway.

Hopefully it'll be around two months again. That seems to be the norm now.

As always, I post bits and pieces of these chapters (and others) on my live journal (username: nebulia) regularly. Feel free to friend me, and you can always check. This chapter, I posted about a quarter of it on my lj a couple of weeks ago, and so if ever you've been wanting me to update, I may have some up over there. Also, if you pester me constantly, I tend to update sooner. XD I'm pretty effective if I'm pestered.

Signing off,   
nebulia


	20. TEASER for Chapter 19: Action

**A/N:** I know most of you are like "OH BOY! A NEW CHAPTER!"

Well, I can hope you are.

Unfortunately, things have caught up with me, including a HUGE writer's block on this fic and a couple other long works, and school, and my anxiety disorder/borderline depression that causes enormous periods of doing-nothingness, and everything else, so this is just about all that I've got for the next chapter. Please don't kill me!

However, to pacify you, and to prove I am not dead, here is a teaser for the next chapter.

I swear to you that I _will_ finish this fic. I promise. It might take a while--It's been over two years already, can you believe it?--but I will do it.

**Teaser for Chapter 19: Action**

_...you did everything you could like any decent person would  
but i might be catching so don't touch!  
just don't believe you're immune to gravity and stuff..._

--The Dresden Dolls, "Girl Anachronism"

When Freira answered the door, Marini stood there.

"M-Marini?" she asked, stuttering in shock.

"Miss Merchantson," Marini said coolly, her eyes looking everywhere save Freira's face. "May I speak with you?"

Freira was silent for a moment, in shock, and then she nodded, swinging open the door. "C-certainly, Marini. Please, come in."

The smaller woman entered, removing her cloak. Friera took it, and gestured to the kitchen. "I'm afraid we don't have a parlor, but you can make yourself comfortable at the kitchen table. I'll hang up your coat and put on a pot of tea. Is that all right?"

Marini nodded and took a seat.

Freira joined her a few moments later, and said, "What do you want?"

Marini looked up, her eyes bright. "I need your help."

Calix awoke with a nasty crick in his neck and rather disturbed by odd fragments of dreams he barely remembered.

"You know," a voice drawled from the corner, behind the drapes, "I know I haven't been human for a while, but I'm still quite sure that that position is not the most comfortable one to sleep in."

Calix's head throbbed in tune to the words, and he blinked bleary eyes to the green eyes of the wolf in the corner. Recognizing Beast, he squinted at her in a parody of a glare. "No, don't talk. I feel as though I've got a bad hangover."

She smirked. "I'd blame the roses for that one."

Remembering his last interlude in the garden, Calix fought down a blush. "I already do."

_Do you now?_

The voice echoed in both their minds. Beast growled, and Regali materialized in front of them, looking smug as usual. _Long time no see, children,_ she said lightly. _You've been busy_.

Calix looked away, blushing for real this time. Beast would have done the same had she been human; instead, she settled for growling deep in her throat, a warning.

_You're so terrifying, Majesty. I'm quivering in my boots. _

"You don't have boots," Beast stated flatly.

_And you're not terrifying. Shut up. I have something to tell you._

Calix frowned. "Oh?"

Regali's amber eyes glittered. _Well, if you're going to act like that, I'll wait._

And then she vanished again.

Beast growled again, loudly this time. "_Damn_ her! Stupid bitch."

"You speak like a sailor," Calix remarked, "Not a Queen."

Beast gave him a baleful look, her eyes narrowed. "What's it to you?"

She looked into his face, expecting to see teasing, or, worse, condescension. But all that was there was a simple curiosity, and his serene eyes.

He shook his head. "Nothing. I was just curious."

She tipped her head. "I just…grew out of talking nicely when I didn't have anyone nice to talk to." That was the truth, unfortunately.

Calix nodded. "Ah."

He stood and stretched, the muscles in his back protesting at first, and then popping. Beast winced when that was followed by the sound of multiple vertebrae cracking, and Calix's relieved sigh. "That's better," he said.

"You're a freak," Beast said. "That was _sick_."

"If it bothers you, don't watch," Calix said, his words brief but not snappish.

"Get dressed," Beast said. "Take a bath. Whatever you do in the morning. Then we're going to find Regali."


End file.
